


The Hunter

by HederEgo



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Choose Your Own Ending, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied Pet Death/Disappearance, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Memory Alteration, Minecraft but realistic-ish?, Nausea, No Smut, Requited Love, Self-Worth Issues, Skeppy and A6d dont actually appear much sorry, Slow Burn, Spiders, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhappy Ending, Use of IRL (First) Names, but not right away, but not rly, this is a oneshot after all :))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 54,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HederEgo/pseuds/HederEgo
Summary: Hunters had only one purpose: to protect the Ender Dragon. If it meant that they had to destroy anyone who dared to threaten its life, then so be it.Dream was one of them.Immortal and imposing. Impatient but never impulsive.So why does this one target seem so different from the rest?You decide.A DreamNotFound choose your own ending fic inspired their Minecraft Manhunt series!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap & Darryl Noveschosch | BadBoyHalo (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), other ships if you squint - Relationship
Comments: 312
Kudos: 855
Collections: dt





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An interactive fic where you get to choose the ending you desire! There are 13 available endings for you to discover!! Also this is set in 1.15, so no Nether Update for y’all. Made possible with [this tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514573)!
> 
> **This won't work if "creator's style" is hidden! It will look super wonky and long lmao**
> 
> Listen,,, I only planned for three main endings but then they all branched out into “OH what if Dream did this thing right now????? Hmm mystery.” Now it’s too long omfg it’s been a month since I began so sorry for the style inconsistencies! If you see my writing deteriorate look away 💕
> 
> Kudos to JT for helping me with some of the branches hehehehehehe
> 
> Be warned that this is quite darker than the other things I wrote before, but there are still some light fluffy moments sprinkled in here and there. Not everything ends in character death just so you know!!
> 
> Let’s see how many references I could cram in!! :DD
> 
> As always, this is only meant to be a fictional portrayal!! Don't bring them into this and especially don't force the ship into their faces!
> 
> **Please read the tags! Let me know if there's anything else I missed!**

Hunters had only one purpose: to protect the Ender Dragon. If it meant that they had to destroy anyone who dared to threaten its life, then so be it.

Dream was one of them.

Immortal and imposing. Impatient but never impulsive.

He bides his time in the trees, silently stalking his prey as he jumps from canopy to canopy, his feet light and agile and imperceptible like the wind. His sword hung securely around his back, the iron blade hidden away by its leather sheath. George was headed towards the caves, sprinting without a care in the world, oblivious to the threat looming over him.

Dream followed, naturally.

He slipped into the shadows, green and brown clothing masking him from the other man. His footsteps tread lightly as he blended in with the granite walls. The faint light of the torches was growing dimmer. _He_ was moving away.

Dream continued on quietly.

Silent.

Undetectable.

Then his target _screams._

Dream peered down the pit where George had fallen. His torches had clattered onto the ground, lighting the area with their eternally-burning flames.

It was a spider spawner, no doubt. The huge, sticky cobwebs were a dead giveaway. The cage where the mother spider lay was sitting innocently in the middle, her children—each half as tall as a man and nearly as large as one—trapping George in a corner. He was desperately swinging his sword at them, cutting limbs and spraying goo as he tried to give himself some leeway. 

The easiest thing that Dream could've done was to walk away and leave George to his fate. No need in getting his blade sullied any more than it had to be.

"Hey!"

Dream's head snapped up in alarm. He'd been careful enough not to let himself be touched by the torchlight. _So how did he...?_

"Help me!" George screamed, growing paler by the second. More spiders have arrived, how lovely.

The spiders have turned against Dream too, much to his surprise. Their many claws reached out for him, hissing through their fangs and spitting poison at him. Some had begun binding his feet to the floor with silk.

Dream sneered at them. How _dare_ they approach a Hunter, much less capture one? He made quick work of their _pathetic_ attempt and easily destroyed the incoming cluster with his sword. 

"Thanks," George said, using his pickaxe to destroy the spawner. The spider inside cried in alarm before fizzing from existence.

Well, so much for leaving him to his fate. Dream should've left as soon as he had the chance.

George peered at him curiously. It was rather unnerving, considering how much Dream prided himself on being invisible. _So much for being imperceptible._ He tugs his mask down to hide his discomfort under a veil of impassiveness, fingers twitching on the hilt of his sword.

Lesser men have died under his blade before. So why could he not just...?

"I'm George," his mark says (as if Dream didn't already know), holding out his hand. Dream refused to take it. "I thought I'd be alone in my quest."

Dream grips the sword tighter. Two options.

 **> Swing.**  
**> Hesitate.**

Dream couldn't hesitate any longer. The target already knew of his existence.

"You won't be alone anymore," he says with a menacing tone in his voice, raising his arm and bringing the blade through George's chest—

—only it doesn't work.

The tip barely grazed the leather chest plate, leaving George unharmed and very much startled. Dream was no different, frozen in his tracks. _A protection enchantment?_ His mind supplied, quickly growing agitated. _This early? How?_

Dream had been so consumed in his thoughts that he didn't even register George bringing down the pickaxe onto his head, making him cry out in alarm. He took a large step back, bringing his sword up to his face, heart hammering loudly in his chest as blood dripped down onto his mask.

Immortal, but not _invincible._

"What's wrong with you?!" George screams at him, raising his pickaxe high and aiming for another hit. "You're... You're not just some guy, are you...?"

"If you kill me, I'll be coming back for you," Dream growls. He lunges towards George again, aiming for his neck. George blocks the blow with his weapon.

"What does that even mean? You'll be dead!" cried George. "Unless… no… you must be—!"

Red suddenly blooms across Dream's chest. Crimson splatters against the inside of his mask.

"A hunter," he finishes just before George deals him the killing blow.

When Dream opens his eyes again, he's already a thousand miles away from George. The compass weighed uselessly in his hands. He should've been more careful, should've at least gotten some hair so he'd be able to track him properly.

Stupid, _stupid._

He'd been too impulsive, he knew that now.

* * *

**ENDING: THE SPAWNER**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

Dream hesitated for a moment. Catching George off-guard like this would probably startle him badly. But then again, he's only wearing leather armor, so—

"Well," George started, awkwardly lowering his hand, "even if you weren't there to kill them off, I'd probably be fine for a few more minutes. Enchanted armor and all that."

_Enchanted armor—?_

"It's the spiders, ugh." George shuddered. "Can't stand them. Um, are you just going to stay here or…?"

"I'll come with you," Dream replied. He'd just lost his imperceptibility after all. The only thing he'd need to hide now is the bloodlust simmering beneath his veins. One strike could change everything. _Impatient, but not impulsive._ "You can call me Dream."

"Dream," George repeated, feeling out the word on his tongue. The hunter forced down a wince. It didn't matter that George knew his name; he'd be dead soon anyhow. "Okay, Dream, can you help me look for some iron?"

"I thought you wanted me to come with you."

"I do." George rolled his eyes as he went to fetch the scattered torches. "But I don't think it would be very productive if you just… followed me around like a shadow all the time." Dream bit down the laughter bubbling in his throat. _He had no idea…_

"Alright," he says instead, sheathing the sword back behind him. "Do you have a spare pickaxe?"

"You have an iron sword but you don't have a pickaxe?" George raised an eyebrow.

Dream shrugged. "Lucky chest," he lied.

George shook his head. "I can't believe you," he said in faux exasperation. He tossed Dream a couple of torches and a newly crafted pick. "Here. Call me when you've found something."

Dream nods. George leaves. Dream rolls his eyes and scoffs. What was he now, a servant? Catering to George's every whim?

 _Patience. Remain vigilant,_ his mind whispers, _his blood shall coat your blade soon._

By the time they’d left the caves, it was already nighttime. The telltale hissing of creepers as well as the low, rumbling groans of the zombies permeated the air. George led them over to an open area by the riverbank, where a lone oak tree stood protectively over them. They lit up the area with torches (as George insisted) and settled down beneath its branches, setting up a campfire for the night.

“How much food have you got?” George asked.

“None,” Dream replied truthfully. He didn’t get hungry, so he had no need for food. He only ever needed to replenish his health, and a few handfuls of bread could already do the trick.

“You’re joking.” George gaped at him. “Wh—How? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re terrible at this.”

Dream laughed. _Little did he know…_

“Here.” George tossed him a slab of freshly cooked steak. “Honestly. How did you survive for so long?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“At least I actually have food,” George shot back, “and torches, and a proper pickaxe. You’ve only got a sword.”

“I’ve got a compass.” Dream showed him the old iron thing, spinning lazily back in the direction of his respawn point. George scoffed.

“I don’t need to know where I went,” he said, “I just need to know where I should go.”

“Well, where are you going?”

“The End.” Well, that just confirmed Dream’s suspicions. George was just another poor sap who threw away their own life for a quest with an infinitesimal chance of completion. What a waste. “I have to kill the dragon.”

“You’re hardly the first to try, you know,” Dream replied.

“I’ll be the first to _actually_ do it.” George finished his meal with a sigh. “I have to. It’s not like I had any other choice.”

Dream rolled his eyes before realizing that George couldn’t see him through the mask. “You didn’t have a choice?”

“No.” George picked at the dirt on his shoes. “My village was suffering. Years of having our crops destroyed and our animals stolen would do that to you.” He cleared his throat. “W-What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing in this part of the Overworld?”

Dream shrugged. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Some fresh air, I guess.”

George scoffed. “Fresh air. Really. You’d call looting chests and running around with swords that?”

“Why are you so focused on my sword?” Dream laughed. He immediately falters. He’d never… never laughed so _genuinely_ before. _What?_

George didn’t seem to notice his distress. “I literally know nothing else about you. We’ve just met.” He propped his chin on one hand and stared up at him. “Why don’t _you_ tell me something about yourself this time?”

“Like what?”

George threw his hands up in exasperation. “Oh, I don’t know! Where did you come from? Your friends? Your childhood? There’s literally a million topics under the sun.”

“It’s nighttime, George.”

“You know what I mean!”

Dream chuckled before carefully schooling his features into a sad smile. “There’s nothing to tell. I’ve been alone for most of my life.” In this one, and the many, many ones before that. “I’ve never really had a home, so…”

“Oh.” George shuffles awkwardly in front of him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You don’t have to pity me.”

“I’m not! It’s just that…” He turned his head away from Dream. “It’s just been a few days or so but it’s pretty lonely out here. Don’t you feel lonely sometimes?”

“I’m used to it.” Dream was better alone. He got more things done, more targets killed while he was alone. He _thrived_ alone.

They sat in awkward silence for a while, until George cut through it with a single sentence. “We should get some sleep.”

Sleep. Dream’s mind started racing.

“We should,” he echoed.

George nodded and put out the campfire with a bucket of water. “Good night,” he said, sitting up against the tree. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes,” Dream replied.

George was still wearing his enchanted armor, but he was asleep this time. Defenseless. Susceptible. Utterly _vulnerable._

 **> Kill him.**  
**> Go to sleep.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

_See you in the morning, he said,_ Dream thought as he unsheathed his sword. _Too bad he’ll never get to see it ever again._

He lifts his weapon with a mighty swing and slits George’s throat, unprotected by any enchantment. Blood splatters onto his armor and his clothes; it coats Dream’s blade and drips onto the grass below. Dream stared blankly at the grisly crimson scene.

 _I should be satisfied,_ Dream thinks to himself, _the deed is done._

He was half-tempted to bury the body, still looking deep in a peaceful sleep minus the angry, red line across his neck. Instead, he leaves the scene with his compass in hand. If he messed with it too much, he might end up leaving unnecessary evidence; he’d best leave him alone.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let George tell him so much about himself—should not have made himself feel so relatable. There was a reason why Dream liked dispatching his marks quickly; they were only targets, nothing more. He didn’t care about the lives they lived nor the ones they lost.

His purpose was to protect the Ender Dragon. That was it.

There was nothing but pity in his heart as he made his way back to his spawn point, his compass buzzing as it alerted him of a new target.

And as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

* * *

**ENDING: CUTTHROAT**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

_No, no,_ Dream thought to himself. _The enchantment could be protecting his whole body. It would be too risky._

Instead, he retrieved a pair of shears that he’d crafted out of their spare iron and snipped off a small tuft of George’s hair. Dream placed it into his compass, smiling as it recalibrated itself, the needle spinning rapidly towards George. _Perfect._

Dream sat down on the side opposite George’s and rested his head onto the trunk. For some reason, it felt _wrong_ to be sleeping next to him. Like an opportunity had slipped past his fingers.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let George tell him so much about himself—should not have made himself feel so relatable. There was a reason why Dream liked dispatching his marks quickly; they were only targets, nothing more. He didn’t care about the lives they lived nor the ones they lost.

His purpose was to protect the Ender Dragon. That was it.

Dream placed a hand onto the cool surface of his mask and heaved a sigh.

 _Whatever._

He didn’t remember closing his eyes and falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, the soft rays of the morning sun shone down upon him, warming him down to the bone. He reached up under his mask to rub at his face, groaning blearily.

“Good morning!” came a cheerful voice to his left.

George had set up the campfire again, this time with a couple of porkchops resting on its logs. He waved at Dream with a smile. “I thought I’d make us breakfast while you slept. I’ve never seen you so relaxed before so I… I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”

“I’m always relaxed,” Dream replied, sitting by the fire.

“No you’re not,” George shot back, eyeing him up and down. “You’re too tense.” He poked at Dream’s shoulders with a stick. The hunter bit back a groan of annoyance. “See? Your back’s too straight.” The stick pokes at his mask. “And your jaw’s always clenched.”

“Stop that.” Dream grabbed the stick from George, making him put his hands up in self-defense. “You just don’t know me well enough. This is me being relaxed.”

George laughed, rolling his eyes. “Geez. I wonder how you’d look when you’re angry.”

“You wouldn’t want to see me angry.”

“Okayyy.” George raised an eyebrow, a teasing tone seeping through the edge of his voice. “Sure.”

“There’s nothing wrong about being tense though.” Dream backtracked, suddenly feeling awkward. “I mean, there’s practically mobs everywhere. It doesn’t hurt to be a little more vigilant.”

“It’s daytime,” George mused.

“That won’t stop the creeper right behind you.”

“What?! Where?!” George yelped in alarm, swinging around and looking wildly for the explosive creature. Dream burst out into a peal of laughter, struggling to catch his breath. “DREAM!!!” He shoved the masked hunter, punching him weakly against the shoulder. “That scared me so bad! You’re so ridiculous.”

“ _Y-You’re_ ridiculous,” Dream quipped, letting the last chuckles slip out of his throat. This time, he made no move to stifle them. They felt… _nice._

“I’m taking the food,” George huffed. “You don’t get any after—HEY! Did you take them?”

“I thought you’d do that.” Dream grinned, holding out the cooked meat. “Here you go.”

“No.” George pushed his hands away. “I’m not taking anything from your filthy, filthy hands.”

“I’m sorry Georgie,” Dream said with a fake pout. “I won’t do it again, promise.”

“Whatever,” the other replied, quickly turning red. “It’s my food anyway.”

The days blended together as they ran through the Overworld, with George looking for lava pools and Dream trying to find the perfect chance to kill him. There were times when the hunter would falter, convincing himself that there would be a better chance later. _You’ll regret killing him now,_ his mind would beg him, _now’s not the best time._

And George would crack a joke or two, and Dream would smile.

He’d been… doing that a lot lately. Dream was suddenly grateful for his mask. It gave him some layer of protection, a kind of sense of impassive coldness that was unfortunately, quickly thawing away.

“We’re friends now, aren’t we?” George asked him one night. They’d decided to stay over at a plains village, beds placed next to each other in the small, empty hut they shared.

“Sure,” Dream yawned, fluffing up his pillow and extinguishing the lantern hanging above them.

“You’ve saved me so many times from the mobs by now.” 

Dream snorted. “Only ‘cause you’re so stupid. Anyone could’ve seen that skeleton from miles away.” That, and how it didn’t feel right that some measly bag of bones should end up stealing _his_ kill. Right?

“And we’ve shared each other’s resources for some time now,” George continued, ignoring him.

“We’re a _team,_ remember?” Dream rolled his eyes.

“Maybe.” George stared up at the wooden ceiling. “I just wish we were more than that.”

“What…?”

“I wish we were friends, idiot.” George smacked Dream’s arm with one hand.

“Ow! Yeah, I said we _are!_ ” 

A stupid idea suddenly forms in Dream’s mind.

 **> Hit George back.**  
**> Let it be.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

Dream hit him back even harder.

“Oww!! What was that for?!”

“For hitting me!”

George hit him again, sparking a petty slapping war between the two of them.

“George! What’s wrong with you?!”

“You hit me!”

“Well _you_ started it!”

George sat up on the bed, shielding his face with his arms crossed over each other. “Okay! Okay! Truce!” He tentatively held out a hand. “No more hitting, I promise.”

Dream sat up and huffed exasperatedly. “Fine. Deal.” He gripped George’s hand and shook it firmly.

 _His palms are warm._ A flush settles on Dream’s cheeks. He’s glad that he’d put out the lantern, at least. Now George couldn’t see his face, with or without the mask.

“Dream, you can let go now.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” Dream shot back.

“Then you’re going to have to hold it all night.” George sounded as flustered as he was. “Commit to it. I tried to give you a chance, Dream, you can’t back out now.”

“I’m not backing out.” A faint smile played on Dream’s lips.

He heard a sharp exhale to his right. The pressure on his hand grew tighter. “I’m not either.”

When the sun rose the next morning, Dream was pleasantly surprised to see that George had kept his promise; his fingers remained interlaced with his own, albeit a bit more loosely compared to last night. The sunlight bathed George's face in a warm, ethereal glow, made angelic by his deep, peaceful slumber.

Dream fought down the sense of elation bubbling up in his chest.

This should feel wrong—

—but it _didn’t._

And truth be told, it scared him.

 **> Continue.**

Dream huffed, rolling over to the side, facing away from him. “We should get some rest, George.” He banished the dumb ideas from his mind. No need to hurt George now for no reason.

“Okay.” He heard George tossing around behind him. “Night, Dream.”

“Goodnight.”

However did it come to this? He tried to be so distant, only responding when George asked him something and attempting to find ways to kill him.

Only… only he _wasn't,_ really, was he? Otherwise George should've been dead by now.

Whatever. He can go deal with this in the morning.

When the sun rose the next morning, Dream was pleasantly surprised to see that he'd woken up before George did. He risked a glance towards his companion. The sunlight bathed George's face in a warm, ethereal glow, made angelic by his deep, peaceful slumber.

Dream fought down the sense of elation bubbling up in his chest.

This should feel wrong—

—but it _didn’t._

And truth be told, it scared him.

 **> Continue.**

“Dream!”

The hunter turned his head towards the voice. It was late in the afternoon now, a hundred miles or so from the village. George was hunched over a bright, bubbling lava pool— _hot, searing, inescapable_ —but before Dream could do anything else, he’d successfully hopped away.

“We could go to the Nether now,” George said, his eyes shining from the lava’s light. “Once we gather enough blaze powder, this whole thing would practically be over!”

“Yes,” Dream replied numbly, his mouth going dry.

What had he been doing?! All the missed chances, the opportunities—all drops of water that had grown enough to fill an entire ocean. They’ve slipped past him again, taunting him with his inefficiency. Feelings, friendships—what were they but mere distractions, pulling him away from his goals?

 _Hunters protect the Ender Dragon. They kill anyone who dares to get in its way._

The lava tempted him closer.

“Dream?” George asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

 **> "No, I'm not."**  
**> "Yes, I am."**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
“No, I’m not.” Dream’s voice shook with anguish. “This has all gone on for far too long.”

“What are you talking about?” George took a step back.

“This! All _this!_ ” Dream gripped the hilt of his sword. The blade glinted against the glow of the pool. “I have already wasted so _much_ of my time!”

“You’re scaring me Dream,” George spoke quietly.

“You _should_ be scared,” Dream snarled, lunging towards him. “I’m going to kill you once and for all.”

George screams and evades his attack, feet surprisingly light and spry for someone who hadn’t trained for as long as Dream had. The hunter laughed maniacally.

“Come here George!” he sang. “ **Come here!** ”

“W-Wa-Wait! Dream!” George cried. “What’s wrong? Maybe we can talk this out!”

“I **don’t** have a choice!” Dream growled. “I _have_ to kill you!”

Dream swings at George’s feet. He jumps and loses his footing, falling down to the ground, scrambling backwards to avoid the hunter.

“Dream, stop! Please!” George sobs. He kicks Dream’s shin with as much force as he could muster. The masked man yells in pain. “What did I _do?_ ”

“You should never have left your village,” Dream said quietly. “You should never have seen me in the caves.”

“Dream?” George struggled to stand up. _His sword, his axe, where were they?_ Dream remained on the ground, kneeling down on one knee, breathing raggedly.

“I should _never_ have been your friend.”

Dream lifted his head up, staring directly at George. The latter flinched.

"You can't mean that," George said weakly.

Dream giggled, the pitch of his voice growing higher and higher. He suddenly launched himself towards George, one arm reaching forward.

" **C'mere Georgie!!!** "

George swerved out of the way with a yelp. Dream couldn't stop himself in time. He fell close to the lava pool, the rocks scratching at his skin, the heat unbearably close. His outstretched arm felt numb. He didn’t need to look at it to know that it had become charred beyond recognition. There was nothing but adrenaline in his veins now.

"Dream!" George screamed, his throat raw from all the yelling. "You're hurting yourself!"

"It doesn't matter if I die." Dream grinned predatorily. "all that matters is that _you_ do."

"I want my friend back," George whispered. "I want _my_ Dream back."

“I’ve waited so long to finally kill you. Didn’t you think everything was just a ruse?” Dream stood up, clutching at his sword. “Just a way for me to see your greatest weaknesses?”

“Not everything was!” George pleaded. “I refuse to believe that you faked every single thing you did with me.”

“What if I did?!” Dream swung his sword, catching a few strands of hair from George’s head. The latter screamed and ran off into the trees, the hunter hot on his heels.

“The apples,” George tried, “the flowers, the moments we shared in the village! Was that all nothing to you?” Dream didn’t answer, only whacking away with his non-dominant hand.

“Oh _George!_ ” Dream called out sweetly, a grin etched onto his face. “Say what you believe! I don’t care anymore.”

But he did, he _did,_ and his heart ached as he continued to run after his target. His injured arm was numb, but he could slowly feel the red-hot pain flaring in his nerves.

“Dream, _please,_ ” George said brokenly, “I want to fix this.”

“You _can’t!_ ” Dream laughed, his eyes stinging with tears. “All you have to do is _die!_ Just _**die!!!**_ ” George led him back towards the lava pool, glancing back for a few seconds to make sure that Dream was still there.

A fatal mistake, as Dream caught up to him and immediately had him cornered.

“Back away, Dream,” George said slowly, breathing raggedly.

He stepped forward instead.

“Nowhere to run,” Dream sang, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “ _Nowhere to hide._ ”

“Do it then,” George said in a resigned tone. “Kill me.”

The hunter raised his sword above him…

…but he couldn’t bring it down onto George.

Dream laughed hollowly. His cheeks felt damp with tears. He can’t—he _couldn’t_ —kill George. He’s a _failure._

"Kill me," he said, bringing down his sword slowly back to his side.

"How can you ask me that?! I _can't!_ "

" **Kill me!** " Dream stepped forward with a chilling roar.

George kicks him in the lava out of self-defense. He then drops to his knees, horrified.

"DREAM!!!" He cried out in despair.

There was nothing but white-hot pain consuming Dream from head to toe, unable to even let him _scream_ in agony. And then, there was nothing.

* * *

**ENDING: MELTDOWN**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
“Yes—Yes, what?” Dream shook his head. “I’m fine.”

No, he wasn't being _distracted._ In fact, knowing more about George has proven to be nothing but beneficial to him.

“We’re so close,” George said, smiling. “I probably wouldn’t get this far without your help.”

 _Well, what did he know about George so far?_

"You're giving me too much credit." Dream scratched the back of his head.

 _For one, he loved apples. George seemed so happy whenever Dream gave him some from a whole day of chopping down trees for logs and resources._

"I'd say you don't give yourself enough." George stuck out his tongue at him. "Always trying to be so humble."

 _Second, he loved flowers. Passing through a flower forest was one of the best things they could ever have done, if the way George squealed in delight was anything to go by._

"…Whatever you say, George." Dream sat down on the grass, watching him lazily.

 _Third, he loved cats. Dream recalled seeing George holding one of the village cats in his arms, cooing to it in a soft, fond voice. His heart had clenched terribly after that._

"It's true! Ugh, why do I even bother." George scoffed and readied a bucket of water. "I'm just going to build the portal."

 _Wait, how is any of this beneficial?_

"Okay."

 _There could be thousands of reasons why. The most important one being…_

"Watch me, okay?" George called out, turning towards him. "I'll have this done quicker than you'd think."

 _…he really liked being George's friend after all._

Dream wheezed in laughter as he saw the water bucket nearly slip from George's hands.

"Shut up!" George huffed, his cheeks growing pink.

"Okay, stop." Dream stood up from his spot and went over to the lava pit.

"No, I can handle this," George replied stubbornly. Dream clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Ugh! Fine…” 

Sighing in defeat, George handed the bucket over to him and stalked off towards the grass. He watched as Dream propped up some logs at the edge of the pool, humming as he worked. The structure kept the water flowing in place while Dream quickly handled the molten rock, scooping it into place as he made a decently shaped portal.

Dream poured down the last lava bucket he needed, grinning at the satisfying hiss it made as it turned into cool, glassy, black stone upon contact with the water. He turned to see George staring at him, and he suddenly felt self-conscious.

“What?”

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” George asked, awestruck.

“Just picked it up somewhere.” Illumina had been a hard one to track, what with his ability to blend in the shadows as well as his immense skill. Dream wasn’t against having to kill him at the time, but he respected the man regardless. Maybe he shouldn’t even have killed him at all, despite what the gnawing voice in his mind thinks.

“So have you ever been to the Nether before?” George tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah.” Dream struck the steel against the small piece of flint, igniting a spark that activated the portal. “It’s definitely more dangerous in there than out here so we’d better stock up on supplies if we’re going in.”

The obsidian frame suddenly glowed an eerie, shimmering purple. Dream stood up and admired his handiwork. “It would be better if we get some rest now. Sleeping in the Nether could have some”—Dream winced at a memory—” _…disastrous_ consequences.” 

“Hmm.” George propped his chin on one hand, looking thoughtful. “I trust you. How far is the plains village from here?”

“I don’t think we could go back to the plains in time,” Dream replied, staring at the horizon. “Night’s approaching. Mobs could find us on the way.”

“Alright.” 

“We should probably go and find a nearby cave or something to spend the night in.”

“Wait, let’s just wait for the sun to set.” George held out his arm, and Dream settled down next to him. “It won’t take long.”

“Okay.”

George sighed softly, leaning his head onto Dream’s shoulder. “The sunset really is pretty, isn’t it, Dream?”

The hunter glances at George, who was bathed in the faint orange glow of the setting sun; his hair lightly tousled by the wind, his lips parted into a small smile. Dream’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t bother fighting off the goofy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he responds quietly, “it is.”

Dream shook his head to clear his thoughts as well as the blush settling onto his cheeks. 

"We really should go now," he said. George nodded and moved away. Dream found himself missing his warmth _again._

There was an abandoned village not far from their lava pool, and they decided to spend the night in one of the dusty, cobweb-ridden houses near the village entrance. This time, their beds were rather far apart, much to Dream's dismay. George had just settled under his covers, musing about the cobwebs and recalling their first (official) meeting.

"By the way," he said suddenly, looking a bit contemplative.

Dream's ears perked up. "What is it, George?" 

"You said you've been to the Nether before, right?"

"Yeah…?"

"How come you're still here? You could've gotten some blaze powder and… killed the Dragon."

Dream suddenly turned pale. George wouldn't be able to tell under the faint torchlight, but he was terrified.

"It's not that easy," he began, trying to keep his voice even. "There's so many things to look out for besides the Blazes. There's Ghasts, Wither Skeletons, Magma Cubes—"

"Mobs have never been a problem for you before," George pointed out. "Your reflexes are so quick, I'm starting to doubt if you're even human." He giggled, oblivious to Dream's rising horror.

"I…" Dream licked his lips, trying to moisten them a little. "It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

 **> Tell him the truth.**  
**> Deflect the question.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“How can you ask me that?” Dream forced out a laugh, raising a brow. “Maybe living alone all these years just gave me an advantage. Besides, there was no reason for me to go to the End.”

“That’s not a very hard explanation,” George said, crossing his arms. Dream felt a little guilty for lying, but what George didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. _Right?_ “Nevermind. Just tell me more about the Nether.”

“There’s smoke…” Dream began slowly. “A never-ending smell of sulfur. The ground feels so crumbly that trying to break it with your hands just turns it into dust.” He racked his brain for any other fleeting memories of his past lives. “There’s… a brick thing—a _fortress,_ that’s it—where the Blazes are. I think.”

“You aren’t sure?”

“I don’t know _everything,_ ” Dream huffed. “All I know is that the Nether is dangerous.”

“And that you can’t fall asleep there.” George frowned. “I don’t know how you found that out, but I trust you.” The guilt weighing on Dream’s chest increased tenfold. “I just hope you’d trust me too.”

“I do,” the hunter said, trying to keep his voice from faltering. “There’s no one that I’d trust with my life more than you.”

George sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. He lay on the bed, subconsciously rubbing his arms. “T…Thank you, Dream. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

 _Everything but the truth about my existence,_ Dream thought miserably.

“I know,” spills from his lips instead, and George sighs in resignation before falling asleep not too long after.

Dream sleeps a troubled sleep, his dreams plagued with nightmares of being discovered. The sight of George’s betrayed, heartbroken face wakes him up in the middle of the night, his anguished screams of “traitor!” ringing in his ears.

 _So much for being well-rested._

* * *

They make their way to the portal first thing in the morning, their packs loaded with food and gear. Dream tries to shake off last night's events, but it weighed too heavily on his mind to be of any good.

"Don't hit any of the zombie pigmen, right?" George repeated.

"Yeah. You've got it."

"Okay."

"The Blazes," Dream tells him as they traversed the bloody red fields, "should be in one of the fortress balconies. You've already seen what a spawner looks like, so be on the lookout for one here."

"Okay." George ran over to him, trying to catch up. "Watch out, Dream!"

A piercing shriek fills the air and suddenly, a ball of fire hits the ground a few feet away from them. Ghostly white tentacles float past their point of view. Dream flashes him a thumbs up. "Good eye."

"How could it see us from all the way up there?" George said shakily.

"I'm not too sure myself." Dream squinted and spotted a familiar burgundy structure, almost blending in with the hellish landscape but not quite so. "Over there. Fortress."

George gaped. "It's _massive._ It's going to take forever until we find the spawner."

"We'd be in luck if you can find one just floating around in the open. It means the spawner's just nearby. Watch your step."

A lava lake bubbled uproariously beneath the cliff they were on, as though it were hungry for just _one_ little sacrifice. Dream would've pushed George in without a thought a lifetime ago. He was George's protector now, and his closest friend. He'd sooner give his own life in a heartbeat.

George halted, breathing in sharply. "Thanks. How will we cross this?"

Dream looked around for a minute. "Over there."

A narrow path jutted out of the netherrack walls, giving them a promising path straight to the fortress. They sprinted nimbly over the crumbling road, cautiously eyeing the lava and watching out for any nearby mobs all at once. George had landed in the fortress entrance just in time as another fireball whizzed past his head, courtesy of a wailing Ghast.

“Sorry.” Dream smiled apologetically. “The quicker we get those rods, the faster we can get out of here.”

“What are you sorry for?”

 _Quite a lot of things, in fact._ “Not being able to protect you. The fact that you have to be here in the first place.”

“I’m not a baby, Dream,” George huffed. “Besides, you’ve already done enough. You don’t have to protect me.”

 _But I want to._ “I know.” His smile turned wry. “Got your shield?”

George raised his arm in reply; a large shield made of wood and iron hung on it, large enough to cover his torso. His other hand was firmly clasped around an iron sword, newly minted and barely used.

“Watch my back,” Dream called out, rushing forward into the brick hallway. He quickly dispatched a wandering Wither Skeleton, narrowly avoiding its blackened blade.

“Looks like you don’t need me after all,” George laughed before screaming in alarm. “No—Dream!” He pointed at something behind him. “I’ve got you!”

He lunged towards the golden creature before Dream could stop him, hitting it with a _clang_ of his sword until it dissipated in a hiss of steam. A metal rod, quickly cooling down, remained in its place.

"A blaze rod," George murmured, storing it in his pack.

"We must be near the spawner," Dream said, looking him over for any injuries. "It didn't get you at all, did it?"

"I'm fine, Dream." George rolled his eyes. "C'mon. Let's find that stupid spawner."

Dream trailed after him as they came upon one of the open balconies, already being patrolled by several Blazes.

"What's the plan?" came George's hushed voice.

 **> Attack.**  
**> Freeze.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

"I'll handle it," Dream said, charging towards the spawner. "Stay hidden!"

"Dream!" George hissed sharply. "What are you doing?!"

Dream ignored his protests and unsheathed the sword on his back, facing the Blazes head-on. He's never gone this far before, since he's never needed to, but he has to now. George needed him, and he'll do _anything_ for him. Metal rang out against metal, the flames licking at his skin, the sweat falling from his brow.

He could see George where he’d left him, eyes ablaze with anger, but feeling too helpless to do much else.

Dream swung his sword, hoping to catch another blaze rod along with the other three he’d already collected; the creature hovered back barely out of his reach and launched thrice at him. He deftly avoids the first two, but the third grazes his cheek, flames catching onto his mask.

“Dream!” George cried, running into the fray. He blocked another incoming fireball with his shield as he pulled Dream back into the safety of their corner, patting his clothes and checking him for burns. It felt awfully familiar.

“George, I’m fine,” Dream said. The mask had been partly burnt off, revealing his right cheek and part of his mouth; it had charred near the edges, smelling faintly of smoke. “We’ve only got four so far, we need more.”

“We can return later,” George reasoned, cupping his face in his hands. “I’m not letting you get hurt any longer.”

“George—”

“I’m not hearing any of this.” He pulled Dream back towards the fortress exit. “We’re going back _now._ ”

“George, wait!”

The shorter man yelped when an iron blade blocked his path, wielded by an angry, blackened skeleton; or at least, as angry as it could look with its hollow sockets and its jaw clenched firmly in its skull. George eyed the poisoned sword warily.

There was only a split second before Dream…

 **> …screamed.**  
**> …moved.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

His limbs were stiff, his body frozen, unable to do anything as the Wither Skeleton thrust its sword into George’s body.

George stumbled back, gasping in shock.

Dream acted on his reflexes, drawing his sword and driving it into the skeleton’s skull with lightning speed. It crumbled into ash and dust, leaving behind its cursed blade.

“ _George!_ ” Dream cried in anguish.

“Dream,” George rasped, reaching up towards him. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, I should be the one who’s sorry!” Dream slung an arm around George’s waist as he hoisted him up. The wound on his side was oozing black blood, smelling of death and decay. _The Wither effect…_ “Come on, George.”

“Dream, I’m sorry,” George wept. “I should’ve been careful.”

“Shh, shh, it’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” He carried George onto his back, supporting his legs as George’s weight leaned onto him. “I’ll take you home. Do you have food?”

“Left my pack in there.” George gestured vaguely towards the spawner. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Dream reached into his cloak for a piece of bread, _anything._ “Here. Eat.”

“I can’t,” George murmured. _Shit, shit, no._ “I’m tired.”

“You can’t sleep here, remember?” Dream insisted, heaving and barely making the jump back onto the narrow netherrack path. “Just a few more minutes, George. Then you can sleep.”

“That’s too long,” he yawned. “You’re so warm, Dream… I’m so… sorry.”

“No!” He ran past the wailing ghasts and the hopping magma cubes. The obsidian frame and its purple shimmering surface had never been such a sight for sore eyes until now. “Just a little more, Georgie, hang on tight. If you sleep right now, I’m going to make you walk the rest of the way back.”

George chuckled weakly. “Sorry, sorry… I’ll be good.”

The rot was quickly spreading in his body, if the dark veins crawling up George’s arms were any indication. He could feel George’s breath against the back of his head, feeble and trembling.

 _Why now?_ His mind screamed. _Why him?_

“George,” he whispered, feet landing just in front of the portal. “Wake up, we’re here.”

“Dream…" George's hold on him grew tighter. “I'm so sleepy…”

“No, shh…” Dream stepped inside the portal. His vision was getting cloudy. “We're almost home.”

“Dream, I'm not gonna make it.”

“I am not going to lose you now!”

The harsh glare of the Overworld's sun was a welcome sight. Dream gently laid George onto the grass, looking for something to patch up the wound, or to heal him, anything, _anything—_

“Dream, i-it hurts… I'm so sorry…” Tears streamed down George's cheeks.

“Eat the bread!” Dream stressed, handing him the loaf he'd stored in his rucksack. “Please, just eat. What do you need? I've got a lot of food just… please, heal.”

George pushed his hands away, reaching out instead for Dream's head. "Dream," he murmured, "I wanna see your face."

"George—"

" _Please._ "

Dream removed what remained of his mask and let George's palms— _cold, too cold, I can't lose you George, please_ —caress his damp cheeks. George smiled, breathing raggedly despite the sharp, pulsing pain in his side.

"I love you, Dream."

Dream placed his hands over George's, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched together. “I love you too, George,” he choked out through his sobs.

“I'm… so glad…” George breathed.

And then he didn't.

Dream felt it the moment George's hands went limp against his own.

 _No._

“No," he repeated, exhaling sharply. "No. George. George!”

 _No reply._

“George!”

He ignored the way his compass buzzed in his pocket, signifying a new target.

He can't. He won't. Not anymore.

“George… please…”

 _I love you, Dream._

He rested his head against George's, ignoring the decay blooming across his skin, making him look more dead than Dream would've liked.

 _Why now. Why now?!_

His smile. His laughter. His handsome, boyish face. Things Dream will never see again. His heart withered up into a small, shriveled thing, wailing in agony for the love he had lost.

* * *

**ENDING: WITHERED ROSE**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
His reflexes were quicker than his mind, pushing George out of the Wither Skeleton's way. He failed to register why George suddenly screamed until he saw the blade sticking out of his side for one moment.

Something inklike dripped from its tip, seeping into his blood.

He felt so lightheaded.

George was a blur to him, knocking out the bony fiend and hitting it until it finally crumbled into ash and dust, leaving behind its cursed blade.

"Dream!" came George's anguished cry.

"George…!" Dream rasped.

His knees buckled below him.

"Dream! No!" A pair of arms wrap around him, cradling his head and cupping his cheek, taking care to avoid his bleeding wound. "No… Dream… Stay with me."

"I'm fine," Dream mumbled. His eyelids felt so heavy. "I'll heal. Leave me, I'm… I'm okay."

"You've been _stabbed!_ " George sobbed. "And now… Dream, what's happening to you?"

The rot had started spreading from his wound, oozing a dark, putrid liquid that smelled of death and decay. George paled at the sight, his hold on Dream's head tightening.

"I'll be fine," he tried to say, but George was quickly dragging him out of the fortress, carrying him on his back despite their height differences. "George… I'm too heavy."

"Shut up." George's voice trembled. "I don't care. I'll get us home, Dream. I promise."

George carried Dream past the netherrack fields, avoiding the rotten, dead-eyed zombie pigmen staring at him along the way. He cursed at the ghasts hurling fireballs at them while Dream buried his nose in George's hair, feeling utterly useless.

"I'm so sorry, George…" Dream laughed humorlessly. "I've failed you."

"It was going to attack me," George said quietly. "If anything, I failed _you._ "

He could see the portal from where they were, or at least it seemed like it, based on the blurry blob of black and purple in the distance. He nuzzled closer into George's warmth.

"Dream?"

"Hmm?"

"You can't sleep in the Nether, remember?" George tightened his grip onto Dream's legs. "So stay awake for me, okay?"

"Okay, George." Dream couldn't fight off an incoming yawn. His head felt so heavy. He was so _exhausted._ "I love you."

George's steps nearly faltered at the confession, but he pushed himself forward until they reached another platform, one much nearer to the obsidian frame.

"I-I-I've got you, Dream," he whispered, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "I've got you."

No answer. George froze for a second.

"Dream?" He jostled his friend's body, trying to elicit a response.

"Dream, we're almost at the portal."

The tears were getting harder and harder to hold back. George could reach the portal, just a few more steps closer and—!

Once his feet had landed by the portal, a sudden weight was lifted off his back. In a panic, he whirled around, only to find out he was utterly _alone._

"Dream?" He called out, alarmed. "Dream, this isn't funny."

A few zombie pigmen groaned at him, but still no sign of his masked friend.

"Dream!" He tried again.

Nothing. No one.

 _I love you._

“I love you too, you idiot,” he said aloud, hoping Dream heard him somehow, despite how impossible it seemed.

George broke down into quiet, whimpering sobs, trying hard to wipe the tears away from his eyes. Was this part of the Wither effect? To have your body suddenly disappear in thin air when you die? Dream had never told him about _that._

Then again, it always seemed like he was hiding something from him. What a pity that he never got to find out what.

George felt pathetic; how could he love someone so much when they couldn't even trust him as much as he trusted them? He'd put his whole life in Dream's hands, let him know that Dream could lean on him if he needed to, then he—

 _He took the blow meant for him—_

—it should be _him_ who's dead, not Dream.

The ocean of lava right behind him looked so tempting.

 _I've nothing left to live for anyway,_ he thought bitterly as he took another step and fell to his fiery fate…

…failing to notice the despairing cry of "George!" behind him.

Dream knelt at the edge of the cliff, his clothes immaculate and his mask untouched, berating himself for arriving too late. For _reviving_ too late. He thought he could make it, with the village so close to the portal but… 

He cried pitifully, refusing to acknowledge the buzzing of the compass in his cloak, signifying a new target. 

George's smile. His laughter. His handsome, boyish face. Things Dream will never see again. His heart crumbled down into ash and dust, wailing in agony for the love he had lost.

* * *

**ENDING: ASH AND DUST**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
Dream froze in place, his usually speedy mind unable to form any strategies.

George sighed and stood up. “Right,” he mumbled, “I’ll just handle this by myself then.”

Before Dream could get a word in, George had already stormed into the fray, brandishing his sword. Unsurprisingly, the Blazes began to attack, shooting their flames towards him, only to be deflected by his shield. He triumphantly disposed of one, catching the golden rod in his hand.

“I told you I could do it,” George said with a smirk, waving his prize in the air. A surprised grin spread across Dream’s face. “You should’ve trusted me more.”

“I…” Dream laughed weakly. “Yeah, I should have.”

He watched silently as George went after the Blazes, admiring his skill and his form as he weaved between the flames, taking them out and collecting his loot. George had just managed to acquire two when the creature hovered back, barely out of his reach, and launched thrice at him.

“George!” Dream yelled in alarm.

George pulled back just in time to block the first two before his shield finally shattered into splinters. The last fireball grazed his cheek, leaving behind a nasty burn.

George grit his teeth and hissed in pain. "I'm fine!" he shot back, "I can do this!"

"George, stop!" Dream pleaded. "I need to tell you something important!"

"What? I'm busy here!"

Should he even tell him the truth? What if it’s too late? What if he reacted badly? It’s not easy to learn that someone out there existed with the sole purpose of killing you. He debated with himself on the merits of telling and _not_ telling George the truth.

A few moments passed, and Dream ended up not saying anything at all. Annoyed, George turned away from him and returned to the task at hand despite his injury.

"If you're just going to stand there," he snapped, "you should leave and go do something useful."

Embarrassed at his lack of action—freezing _twice,_ in fact—Dream shut his mouth and left the area. George said he'd be fine; he'll just have to trust him despite what his gut says, or else he'd be even angrier with Dream than he was now.

Dream wandered the halls alone, looking for anything he could bring back for George. He opened a chest and took the three iron ingots inside. If he could get a proper table, he'd probably be able to fashion George a new shield, given that his was already broken—

A sudden noise startled him. He looked towards the direction of its source, and paled when he saw long, black legs surrounded by a faint shimmer of purple light.

He daren't look the Enderman in the eye.

 _Does it know what I’d done?_ he thought.

It made another noise before teleporting away, leaving Dream staring at the ground in shock.

 _"Traitor!"_

Dream flinched at his own thoughts, shaking his head violently to rid himself of them. He should focus instead on making a shield for George.

 _"Traitor!"_

Does he even need one at this point?

 _"Traitor!"_

There. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it could definitely hold on its own for quite some time. He ignored the horrible screams gnawing in his mind; if he gave in to them _now,_ he might as well have ruined all the progress he’d made.

When Dream returned to the spawner, his heart quickly turned to lead at the sight. There were only Blazes there. His friend was gone.

 _…Where's George…?_

Two Blazes shoot at him. He blocks the fireballs with the new shield.

 _Where's George?_

Panic quickly rising in his chest, he tried to determine where his friend could be.

There, in the corner, he could see the broken remains of two fences surrounding the balcony.

 _Could he have…?_

He slew the Blazes with his sword and peered over the edge. His heart dropped…

…and so had George.

 _No._

Dream's hand flew up to his mouth as he stared in shock at the unmistakable remains of his friend. He'd recognize that blue shirt anywhere, as well as that pair of glasses… 

_Why now?_

…that soft, brown hair; those dark eyes that will never open again…

 _Why now?!_

A lone Blaze floated idly by his body. _That must be why he…_

Did George die angry with him? Angry enough to risk taking on something far out of his reach, ignoring the dangers looming below?

 _"Traitor!"_ his thoughts reminded him gleefully as he stood, unmoving. The compass buzzed relentlessly in his pocket, telling him that he had a new target.

 _"Traitor!"_

* * *

**ENDING: COLD SHOULDER**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
“Okay,” Dream breathed. If anyone deserved to know, it was George. It’s not as if he still had any strong intent to kill him, despite what his instincts were screaming at him. “I just hope you wouldn’t… see me as any different afterwards.”

George sat up on the bed in alarm. “Wh- You’re not human?!”

“Not exactly,” Dream began, “and you’re making me feel nervous!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” George began fiddling with his hands, unsure of what to do with them. “So… what are you?”

“I’m a Hunter.” Dream stared down at his hands. “I _feel_ human, I think I used to be one, but now I… I’m immortal, I guess.” He picked at a loose thread on his sheets. “Whenever I die, I keep waking up in the forest… or the last village I went to… or some ravine a million miles away…” He laughs, blinking away tears of frustration. “It’s all so I can hunt down people like you.”

“Like me…?” George was doing such a good job of trying to sound calm, but the sharp gasp he made just gave him away. “What do you mean…?”

“People who tried to go after the Ender Dragon.”

George’s heart sank down in his chest. “O-Oh…”

“I won’t kill you!” Dream blurted out. “I… I stopped wanting to for a while now.” He set his mouth in a firm line. “I want to help you. Kill the Ender Dragon, that is.”

“Why me? Why now?” George scratched the back of his head. “I’m so sorry if it seems like I have trouble believing you Dream, but hunters were just legends—”

“I can prove it,” Dream said suddenly, rummaging through his pockets and producing the compass with George’s hair in it.

“Your compass…?”

“Not just any compass.” He showed it to George. “Try moving to the left, but keep watching the needle.”

George scrambled out of the bed, still skeptical, until he saw the red line pointing towards him. He tried switching directions, and so did the needle. “It’s following me,” he said, surprised.

“Yes,” Dream replied, turning his head away. “I took some of your hair the night we met. That’s how it’s tracking you.”

“That’s amazing.” George sounded awestruck. A bit shaken, but still awed.

“I’ll give it to you as a sign of trust.” Dream took his sword and carefully cut off a part of his own hair, replacing the contents of the compass with it. “Now it should be pointing towards me.”

“I can’t take this,” George protested even as Dream placed it into one of his hands, closing his own larger ones over it. “Won’t you get in trouble for it?”

“I’m already in trouble for not wanting to kill you anymore.” Dream’s eyes shone with mirth despite their precarious situation. “I doubt this will change anything.”

“Dream,” George whispered, staring down at their clasped hands. “You’re too good to me.”

Dream gave him a fond squeeze. “You deserve nothing less,” he whispered back. “Now get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us.”

After quite some time of silence, George’s voice rang out again. “Dream?”

“Yeah?”

“When you told me that stuff about sleeping in the Nether, was that what happened to you?”

“…Yeah.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Sorry for asking.”

“It’s fine.”

He heard the faint rustling of George’s sheets. “Can I sleep next to you?”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. “If you want to.”

He heard George’s footsteps shuffling across the floor before feeling a warm weight dipping onto the bed and settling on his back. Dream scooted over to make some room for him.

“May I hug you?” came George’s timid voice.

“Okay.” His heart was practically trying to escape from his chest. A pair of arms immediately wrapped around his torso, warm and protective and familiar. He liked how safe he felt. "Y'know, I didn't think that you of all people would be willing to hug me."

"If you say you trust me," George said, muffled against his back, "know that I trust you more. You haven't killed me yet, have you?"

"With the way things are going," Dream whispered sincerely, resting a hand on George's arm, "I'd say you're the one who's going to be killing _me._ "

* * *

Dream wakes up the next morning in George's arms, the shorter man still clinging tightly onto him. He turns around to face him, his free hand running through George's soft brown locks. The latter sighed and buried himself closer into Dream's chest, breathing deeply into his scent.

Part of him felt afraid that the rapid thumping of his heart would wake George up, and the moment would be over sooner than he'd liked.

"Dream…?" George mumbled sleepily, cracking one eye open.

That same part of him wondered what it would be like to…

 **> …kiss him.**

But the feeling passed, and George smiled up at him, blinking away from the tiredness in his eyes.

"Long day ahead," Dream said. "We better get up now."

George nodded. "Let's."

They set off towards the portal, their packs loaded with food and gear. Dream had given George a quick rundown of what he knew about the Nether, its inhabitants, and its structures.

"Don't hit any of the zombie pigmen, right?" George repeated.

"Yeah. You've got it."

"Okay."

"The Blazes," Dream tells him as they traversed the bloody red fields, "should be in one of the fortress balconies. You've already seen what a spawner looks like, so be on the lookout for one here."

"Okay." George ran over to him, trying to catch up. "Watch out, Dream!"

A piercing shriek fills the air and suddenly, a ball of fire hits the ground a few feet away from them. Ghostly white tentacles float past their point of view. Dream flashes him a thumbs up. "Good eye."

"How could it see us from all the way up there?" George said shakily.

"I'm not too sure myself." Dream squinted and spotted a familiar burgundy structure, almost blending in with the hellish landscape but not quite so. "Over there. Fortress."

George gaped. "It's _massive._ It's going to take forever until we find the spawner."

"We'd be in luck if you can find one just floating around in the open. It means the spawner's just nearby. Watch your step."

A lava lake bubbled uproariously beneath the cliff they were on, as though it were hungry for just _one_ little sacrifice. Dream would've pushed George in without a thought a lifetime ago. He was George's protector now, and his closest friend. He'd sooner give his own life in a heartbeat.

George halted, breathing in sharply. "Thanks. How will we cross this?"

Dream looked around for a minute. "Over there."

A narrow path jutted out of the netherrack walls, giving them a promising path straight to the fortress. They sprinted nimbly over the crumbling road, cautiously eyeing the lava and watching out for any nearby mobs all at once. George had landed in the fortress entrance just in time as another fireball whizzed past his head, courtesy of a wailing Ghast.

“Sorry.” Dream smiled apologetically. “The quicker we get those rods, the faster we can get out of here.”

“What are you sorry for?”

 _Quite a lot of things, in fact._ “Not being able to protect you. The fact that you have to be here in the first place.”

“I’m not a baby, Dream,” George huffed fondly. “Besides, you’ve already done enough. You don’t have to protect me.”

 _But I want to._ “I know.” His smile turned wry. “Got your shield?”

George raised his arm in reply; a large shield made of wood and iron hung on it, large enough to cover his torso. His other hand was firmly clasped around an iron sword, newly minted and barely used.

“Watch my back,” Dream called out, rushing forward into the brick hallway. He quickly dispatched a wandering Wither Skeleton, narrowly avoiding its blackened blade.

“Looks like you don’t need me after all,” George laughed before screaming in alarm. “No—Dream!” He pointed at something behind him. “I’ve got you!”

He lunged towards the golden creature before Dream could stop him, hitting it with a _clang_ of his sword until it dissipated in a hiss of steam. A metal rod, quickly cooling down, remained in its place.

"A blaze rod," George murmured, storing it in his pack.

"We must be near the spawner," Dream said, looking him over for any injuries. "It didn't get you at all, did it?"

"No, it didn't." A flush appears on George's cheeks. "I'm fine."

"You know I can revive myself if I get hurt, right?" Dream chided. "I can't say the same for you."

"It doesn't mean I won't feel terrible if I lost you."

Dream sighs and pulls George in for a hug. "I'm sorry."

"Let's just find the spawner." George tried to give him a reassuring smile, pulling away from his embrace.

Dream trailed after him as they came upon one of the open balconies, already being patrolled by several Blazes.

"What's the plan?" came George's hushed voice.

 **> Attack.**  
**> Ask George.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

  
Dream lifted his mask high enough and pressed a chaste kiss on the top of George's head.

"Morning," he murmured back shyly.

" _Oh._ " George suddenly turned red, and so did Dream.

"I really want to kiss you," said the hunter.

"…So do I," came the other's faint mumble.

"Oh!" He was much more awake now—and his heart even more so—as George stared up at him, biting his lip nervously. "Okay," he breathed, his hand sliding to the back of George's head and pulling him closer, tilting his head a little to the side.

George's breath was warm, and his lips were _soft._ Perhaps a little chapped, but Dream didn't mind one bit. George's eyes fluttered closed. He hugged Dream even tighter. For a few, blissful moments, Dream's senses were completely overwhelmed with _George._ Was this what it felt like to love someone so completely? So fully? How could he survive feeling like this every single day?

It wasn't long before they each had to pull away, breathing heavily with goofy smiles on their faces.

"Is this what it's like to wake up next to you?" George murmured, reaching up a hand to cup Dream's jaw. "If so, I'd like to do it for the rest of my life."

Dream let out a flustered laugh. "Even knowing what you know—"

George put a finger on his lips, silencing him immediately. "Especially then. I don't want to lose you, Dream. So I…" He glanced aside and bit his lip. "…I've decided to set aside the Nether mission for now."

Dream's eyes widened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." George stared back determinedly at his masked face. "Killing the Dragon isn't worth getting you hurt, despite your infinite lives or whatever." He buried his face back into Dream's chest, savoring the way his heart started racing. "I want to stay here with you. Let's just… stay here together for the rest of the day."

"Anything for you, George," came Dream's soft reply, his arms wrapping around George's figure. "I… I love you."

George laughed breathlessly, _giddily._ "…I love you too, Dream."

When George put off the Nether trip, Dream didn't know exactly how long they were delaying it. Several months or so must have already passed since their shared confessions in the bed, opting to stay in the village for a while. George had suggested cleaning it up and restoring it to its former glory, starting with their own house.

"Oh, Dream!"

The hunter smiled as he watched his beloved _(boyfriend? husband? Dream had yet to talk to George about labels…)_ running towards him. He let go of the blue orchids he was planting and stood up to greet him with a warm embrace.

"Dream, look what I found!" George held up a bundle in his arms, a small ball of fur covered in brown stripes. "She was loitering by the old library. Isn't she precious?"

"She's adorable," Dream agreed, lightly stroking the kitten with one finger. "What should we name her?"

"Oh, we're keeping her?" George's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, if you want to."

"I want _you_ to decide," George said with a grin. Dream wanted to kiss him right then and there. "If I ever find another, I'm naming that one."

"Patches," Dream said, after thinking for a while. "She looks like a Patches to me."

"Patches," George cooed lovingly, "our baby." A funny feeling settled onto Dream's chest, and he sighed affectionately in response. "Lucky for her, I caught some cod in the river earlier, so guess who's having a feast tonight?"

Dream laughed as George lifted the cat into the air, who was mewling at him and trying to paw at his face. His mind suddenly remembered the lava pools upon hearing the word _river,_ and he couldn't help but ask:

"Do you… Do you think we should still go to the Nether?"

George stopped, bringing Patches back down to his chest. He shook his head. "It's too dangerous, Dream. Besides, we have this one to look out for now." He pressed a kiss to Dream's bare cheek; the need for anonymity with his mask had been gone for quite some time now. They’ve long since bared their souls to each other, no secrets left hidden, no stone unturned. "Come back to the house when you're done, love. I'll be cooking tonight."

"Of course." Dream leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I love you, George."

"I love you too, Dream."

Once George and Patches have disappeared behind the oak door, Dream sighed. His life had been nothing but perfect and wonderful ever since that fateful morning, but the thought of going through the portal and resuming their quest still nagged at him. _Whatever. Maybe I'm just overreacting._

After planting the rest of the orchids into place, Dream headed back into the house and wrapped his arms around George, who was cooking dinner over the furnace. The shorter man yelped in surprise before relaxing into the hug.

"Dream," he chuckled, "you startled me."

Dream leaned his head onto George's. "I love you so much," he whispered. "You know I'll do anything for you, right?"

"I know," George replied, giggling. "And I love you too."

Yes, his life had been perfect. And he didn't want to change anything else about it.

* * *

**ENDING: DOMESTICITY**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“We attack,” Dream said with a toothy grin. “The sooner we get those blaze rods, the better, right?”

“You’re right,” George replied with a bright smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Their attacks were well-coordinated, like a choreographed dance wherein both of them knew each step by heart; a block here, a swing there, and a couple of blaze rods now firmly in their grasp. The sound of metal rang throughout the air, and the heat of the flames prickled their skin.

It felt _exhilarating._

George looked up at Dream for a moment, panting as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Dream’s cheeks suddenly felt warm, and it wasn’t just because of the Nether’s temperature. 

“How many have we got?” he asked.

“About seven, including the one we got earlier,” Dream replied, forcing himself to look away. “Watch out, that one’s about to fire again.”

As if on cue, the golden creature launched three fireballs at them. George easily blocked the first two with his shield before it shattered into splinters. Dream pulled George out of the way, holding him close before the last one managed to burn a single hair on his head.

“Hey there,” Dream said cheekily.

George rolled his eyes, grinning. “Hey.” He made a disappointed noise when Dream let go of him.

“What?” Dream chuckled. “C’mon, last one left.”

“My shield’s broken.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it.” Dream stood in front of George, bouncing on his heels as he waited for an opportunity to strike. “Watch me.”

“I’m always watching you,” George replied without missing a beat.

Dream laughed again, eyeing the Blaze as it approached them. With one— _two_ —more slashes of his iron sword, the delightful sound of the creature’s last hisses resounded in his ears, and its much-awaited treasure rolled down to his feet. He waved it in the air, grinning widely at George.

“I did it!” He cheered.

“You did it!” George yelled at the same time. “Yes!!! C’mon, let’s go back!” He ran out into the hallway as Dream trailed after him. “We’re doing this, we’re _finally_ doing this!”

They jumped back onto the narrow path, running through the netherrack fields as they tried to look for their portal. Dream led them past towards a group of zombie pigmen as they ambled about, golden swords hanging lazily from their hooves.

“Eat, let’s eat,” George giggled, feeling euphoric. “I’m _exhausted,_ I need to eat.” He was already opening his pack and fetching himself a loaf of bread, not bothering to wait for Dream’s reply.

Suddenly, a distressed purring noise echoed throughout the hellscape. George looked up just in time to see the Ghast’s huge, translucent figure peeking behind a cluster of glowstone, quickly approaching their area.

“Dream!” he shouted, pointing at it as he tried to scarf down the bread as fast as he could.

The hunter sprang to his feet in alarm as the Ghast let out a piercing shriek and with it, a fireball. His lightning-fast reflexes kicked in as he used his sword to deflect it back towards its sender… 

…at least, _that_ was the plan.

The explosion hit a group of pigmen instead, causing chunks of netherrack to spew out of the ground, a fine red dust cloud settling over the area. Dream turned _pale_ , grabbed George’s hand with his clammy, shaking one as his legs urged him to run, run, _run now!!!_

“Dream! Dream wait!” George nearly tripped on his own feet as he tried to keep up. “I’m running! I’m running!”

The horde’s angry grunts resounded behind them, charging towards them with their swords raised, hooves thumping across the red rock.

"The portal!" Dream shouted, pointing towards the shimmering, purple light. The obsidian frame stood starkly against the red walls.

 _Salvation, at last._

"Dream!" George screamed. "They're gaining on us!"

"Not if I can help it!" He searched in his pockets for anything, _anything_ that could help, but came up empty-handed.

"Dream!" George wailed, feeling the rotten, bloodied hooves grabbing at his arm.

"George!" Dream shouted, pulling him back to no avail.

George made a cry of distress before suddenly falling silent. The angry mob descended onto Dream not too long after, their numbers too great for him to bear.

When he wakes up again in the abandoned village, the first thing he notices is his compass, now back in his cloak, but devoid of any content. It buzzed mockingly at him, referring him to a new target.

* * *

**ENDING: THE HORDE**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“Well,” Dream started, “what would you want to do, George?”

"Me?" George made a startled noise. "Well, I do feel a little unprepared." He gazed down at his iron boots, the only piece of armor he had left after an unfortunate incident with a creeper. "We could go explore the fortress; the Blazes can wait."

Dream nodded. "Anything for you, George."

"Okay, stop." George's cheeks became tinged with pink.

The brick hallways weren't much different from the other fortresses Dream had encountered before, with a single chest sometimes breaking the view, or the occasional hostile fiend intent on killing them.

"Should we split up?" George asked, pulling out Dream's present from his pack. "We could cover more ground that way, and I could find you with your compass."

"It doesn't work in the Nether," Dream pointed out.

"Ah," George huffed in disappointment, watching the needle spin aimlessly in his hand. "Well, that's… ridiculous."

"Tell me about it," Dream replied, rolling his eyes.

A sudden noise stopped them in their tracks. Dream looked towards the direction of its source, and paled when he saw long, black legs surrounded by a faint shimmer of purple light.

He daren't look the Enderman in the eye.

 _Does it know what I’d done?_ he thought.

George suddenly swung a sword beside him, making him jump. The Enderman made a grunt of pain when George barely grazed its leg, teleporting a few ways behind him with the intent of rushing him.

"I've got you," Dream called out, slashing at the creature and dealing a lot more damage. It looked at him for a few seconds, trapping his gaze with its glowing, lilac stare before teleporting away and charging at them again, jaw wide open, letting out an angry roar.

George managed to slice through it with one final blow. It melted away into a pile of black goo, leaving behind its bluish, greenish core.

"An Ender Pearl," Dream mused. He knew his fate was sealed the moment he helped George kill that Enderman; but if he had to be called a _traitor_ to protect him, then he would _be_ a traitor, damn it.

"Now for the blaze powder," George said excitedly.

"What? I thought we were still unprepared."

"Oh, like I didn't see the iron you were sneaking off." George lightly punched him on the arm. "You can already make a whole chestplate for yourself."

"I'd rather have the boots."

"Then make the boots and let's _go!_ "

After making themselves some more armor, they returned to the balcony, more confident, more determined.

"I'll be right behind you," George said with a bright smile.

Their attacks were well-coordinated, like a choreographed dance wherein both of them knew each step by heart; a block here, a swing there, and a couple of blaze rods now firmly in their grasp. The sound of metal rang throughout the air, and the heat of the flames prickled their skin.

It felt _exhilarating._

George looked up at Dream for a moment, panting as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Dream’s cheeks suddenly felt warm, and it wasn’t just because of the Nether’s temperature. 

“How many have we got?” he asked.

“About seven, including the one we got earlier,” Dream replied, forcing himself to look away. “Watch out, that one’s about to fire again.”

As if on cue, the golden creature launched three fireballs at them. George easily blocked the first two with his shield before it shattered into splinters. Dream pulled George out of the way, holding him close before the last one managed to burn a single hair on his head.

“Hey there,” Dream said cheekily.

George rolled his eyes, grinning. “Hey.” He made a disappointed noise when Dream let go of him.

“What?” Dream chuckled. “C’mon, last one left.”

“My shield’s broken.”

“Okay, I’ll handle it.” Dream stood in front of George, bouncing on his heels as he waited for an opportunity to strike. “Watch me.”

“I’m always watching you,” George replied without missing a beat.

Dream laughed again, eyeing the Blaze as it approached them. With one— _two_ —more slashes of his iron sword, the delightful sound of the creature’s last hisses resounded in his ears, and its much-awaited treasure rolled down to his feet. He waved it in the air, grinning widely at George.

“I did it!” He cheered.

“You did it!” George yelled at the same time. “Yes!!! C’mon, let’s go back!” He ran out into the hallway as Dream trailed after him. “We’re doing this, we’re _finally_ doing this!”

They jumped back onto the narrow path, running through the netherrack fields as they tried to look for their portal. Dream led them past towards a group of zombie pigmen as they ambled about, golden swords hanging lazily from their hooves.

“Eat, let’s eat,” George giggled, feeling euphoric. “I’m _exhausted,_ I need to eat.” He was already opening his pack and fetching himself a loaf of bread, not bothering to wait for Dream’s reply.

Suddenly, a distressed purring noise echoed throughout the hellscape. George looked up just in time to see the Ghast’s huge, translucent figure peeking behind a cluster of glowstone, quickly approaching their area.

“Dream!” he shouted, pointing at it as he tried to scarf down the bread as fast as he could.

The hunter sprang to his feet in alarm as the Ghast let out a piercing shriek and with it, a fireball. His lightning-fast reflexes kicked in as he used his sword to deflect it back towards its sender… 

…at least, _that_ was the plan.

The explosion hit a group of pigmen instead, causing chunks of netherrack to spew out of the ground, a fine red dust cloud settling over the area. Dream turned _pale_ , grabbed George’s hand with his clammy, shaking one as his legs urged him to run, run, _run now!!!_

“Dream! Dream wait!” George nearly tripped on his own feet as he tried to keep up. “I’m running! I’m running!”

The horde’s angry grunts resounded behind them, charging towards them with their swords raised, hooves thumping across the red rock.

"The portal!" Dream shouted, pointing towards the shimmering, purple light. The obsidian frame stood starkly against the red walls.

 _Salvation, at last._

"Dream!" George screamed. "They're gaining on us!"

"Not if I can help it!" He searched in his pockets for anything, _anything_ that could help, and immediately closed his hands around the hardened jelly casing of the Ender Pearl.

"Hold on to me, George!" Dream shouted, reaching out a hand. George immediately grabbed it as tightly as he could as Dream threw the pearl.

It landed perfectly near the portal, cracking and letting them teleport. The two scrambled into the portal, watching their pursuers still running in the distance, until suddenly there was nothing but blue skies and soft grass before them.

"Block it, let's block it!" Dream said, covering the front of the portal with sizzling lava.

"There!" George finished doing the same with the other side before running towards the grass and lying down onto it, laughing breathlessly. "I _never_ want to see a piece of netherrack ever again."

Dream lied down beside him, wheezing with hysterical laughter. "I haven’t, _ahahaha,_ I haven’t hit a pigman in so long." He stopped to catch his breath. "I didn't know they'd be so _fast!_ Or that there would be so many of them, holy _shit._ "

"Shut up! That was so scary." George lightly hit him again, groaning. "My legs are so sore. I'm never taking the Overworld for granted again, never ever."

Dream finally calmed down after another little chuckle, staring at George beside him. He had his eyes closed, limbs splayed out on the grass, as he continued muttering about his tired feet.

Dream smiled, reaching out to hold George's hand in his own.

George's eyes shot open, head turning to look at him, before he grinned and squeezed his hand back.

"I want to stay here for a while," he murmured. "I'm so tired."

Dream sat up, careful not to pull his hand away from George's. "Want me to cook something for you?"

"Oh, _no._ " George sat up as well. "Last time you tried to cook something, you forgot it was even there in the first place."

"I only took a nap for _two_ minutes!"

"You shouldn't nap when you're cooking!" Dream burst out into laughter again. George groaned in exasperation, covering his face with both hands. "You're the _wooorst._ "

"You know you love me," Dream teased, before his cheeks turned a pretty shade of red. _Not that George could see, of course…_ The latter took on a similar color, staring at Dream with wide eyes for a few moments before turning his head away.

"Maybe…" Dream's eyes widened in surprise. "Say whatever you want, Dream," George huffed, reaching for his pack. "I'll be cooking some salmon tonight."

"A-At least let me help you set up the campfire!”

* * *

It took about a day or two before they made any more progress, encountering another Enderman staring at them through the trees. George made quick work of it and acquired another pearl.

Dream watched as the shimmering blaze powder passed seamlessly through the Ender Pearl’s membrane skin, blending with its contents and tinting it a yellowish hue. George stared as he turned it over in his hands.

“I didn’t think we’d come this far,” Dream said quietly. “At least, not together.”

“You’ve changed a lot,” George replied. “For… For the better. That’s what I think.”

“Really?”

“Really.” George squeezed his shoulder, smiling gently. “You’re trying to help me now, right? That’s… That’s gotta count for something, at least.”

“Okay.” Dream turned to face him. “So should you throw it or should I?”

“You can do the honors,” George giggled. “I got the pearl, so you should throw it.”

“One stronghold, coming right up.”

The Ender Eye glowed a faint purple in Dream’s hands as he threw it in the air, floating a few inches away from them before dropping to the ground, miraculously unbroken. Dream picked it up and stored it in his pack.

“That way.”

George nodded. “Let’s go.”

As George took off running, an idea suddenly popped into Dream’s mind.

“Hey!” he called out. “Bet you I can find the stronghold first!”

A grin spread across George’s face. “You’re _so_ on.”

Dream laughed and changed his stance as he ran, allowing him to easily overtake George, his cloak billowing behind him.

“You’re going to get _tired!_ ” George shouted after him.

“I’m built to hunt, remember?” Dream replied. “I’ll never get tired.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying!”

Dream chortled until his eyes spotted something in the distance. “Ooh, George look—a village!”

“You’re just messing with me.”

“No, no.” Dream slowed down until he stopped on top of the little hill, pointing at something in the horizon. “See?”

George finally caught up to him, struggling to catch his breath. “Oh, you’re right. Think we should go there? It’s a little off the path to the stronghold, but I don’t think we’d be delayed too much.”

A strange feeling bristled inside Dream’s gut, like it was something he _shouldn’t_ do—but they’d need resources along the way, and what better time to get them but _now?_

 **> Check out the village.**  
**> Continue to the stronghold.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

Ignoring his instincts, Dream started heading towards the village with a playful _“race you there!”._

“Hey!” George huffed. “Not fair!”

As Dream approached the well-trodden path, a sudden wave of déjà vu hit him. _It’s probably because it looks similar to the other villages,_ he reasoned with himself. But he found himself going through worn roads, knowing that _this left path leads to the village library,_ or even _the way ahead leads to the shepherd’s house,_ despite never having been there before.

The people look strange, unfamiliar. But his heart knew the way, even if he didn’t understand why.

“Dream, you’re staring,” came George’s whisper to his left. Dream tipped his head and apologized to the man he’d offended. George’s hand remained a comforting presence on his arm, keeping him grounded through the sudden haze clouding his mind. _What’s going on?_

“Dream, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dream mumbled, forcing on a smile. “I’m just feeling a little off today.”

“I told you not to overexert yourself,” George sighed. “Come on. Wanna look for an inn to rest in?”

“I said I’m _fine,_ George.”

“You don’t _seem_ fine to me.” George paused, looking around. “Oh! Wanna help me practice my bow skills?”

“You don’t have a bow,” Dream pointed out.

George rolled his eyes. “I saw a fletcher’s shop nearby, genius.” He pulled Dream towards the aforementioned store. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got some experience with a bow, from… from all your past lives, I think.”

“Yeah, I do.” It’s always been one of his favorite weapons to use, but it was clunky around his body, and the quiver wasn’t helping either. “I got used to a sword though.”

“Can you teach me then?” George was already trading away his hard-earned emeralds for a wooden bow and a couple of arrows. Dream didn’t have the heart to tell him _no._

“Sure.”

Then again, he couldn’t deny George anything most of the time.

George led him over to the forest bordering the village, past the dense thicket of trees, and into a little clearing. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, the bright spots dancing over George’s body as he readied his bow. Dream couldn’t help but remember the past, when he used to follow him through the woods, trying to remain unseen. The past where he spent the days splashing in the river with—

No, he’d never done that with George. George would die of embarrassment first before they could do that.

What about running with… with wolves…? _What…? We’d never tamed any…_

But the name “Cash” stood out so clearly in his mind—yes, this was the area _they’d_ found him in too, remember?

Remember what, exactly? Found what with _who?_ He’s never been here before… 

…right?

The sudden hand on his arm made him flinch. George stared at him with troubled eyes, his brows furrowed in concern. Dream wanted to wipe his worries away so _badly._

“Dream?”

“I’m sorry George,” he sighed, placing a hand over his. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Want to talk about it? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll just end up confusing you more.” He took the bow from George, along with a couple of arrows. “‘Sides, this is a great distraction.”

He nocked an arrow against the bowstring, aiming for the trunk of a great oak tree several feet away from them. He took a deep breath and released it, hitting his target with a great _thwack._

“Still got it,” he muttered proudly under his breath. 

George chuckled. “My turn?”

“Okay.” He watched as George took his spot and attempted to fire another arrow. It ended up soaring past the target and into the trees, causing them to dissolve into laughter.

“Not bad,” Dream said, grinning. 

“Shut up.” George elbowed him, rolling his eyes. “ _Now_ will you teach me?”

“I’d be happy to, after seeing _that_ attempt.” He stood behind George, correcting his stance and his posture before placing his hands onto George's.

"You'll need to pull the string up to _here,_ " Dream whispered, gently guiding his arms. He didn't know whether or not George could feel the way his heart beat rapidly in his chest.

"Like this?"

"Yeah." Dream moved his hands up to George's shoulders. “Take a deep breath and release when you exhale. That should help you along.”

George nodded and followed his instructions, leaning in closer to Dream's chest, exhaling sharply. The arrow struck a couple inches away from Dream's, to his delight.

“ _Not bad,_ ” Dream laughed. “You're a better shot than you think.”

“Only 'cause I had a great teacher.” George turned his head to face him.

“Stop,” Dream chuckled, embarrassed. “That was all you. My turn?”

They each took turns hitting their targets, laughing at the missed arrows and cheering at the successful ones.

“Dream, we should get the arrows back,” George said. “I don’t have any more emeralds for new ones.”

“Your fault for trading them all away,” Dream snickered, already leading the way through the trees. “You can get the ones on the oak. I’ll try finding the other ones.”

“Sure.”

Dream found the missing arrows right next to a tall, dark oak tree beside a worn dirt path. A ring of flat stones circled it, piquing his interest. There seemed to be… inscriptions carved onto them, from the looks of it. He knelt down onto the grass, curious.

 _“To Zak; we will miss you, always.”_

 _“In loving memory of Darryl; lost, but never forgotten.”_

 _“For Nick; until we meet again.”_

It felt strange, intruding on someone’s grave; or a memorial, from the looks of things. Dream almost stood up to leave when the final inscription caught his eye.

 _“In cherished memory of Clay; you will live on in our dreams.”_

A sudden wave of nausea crashed over him.

Clay. _Clay. **Clay.**_

The memories suddenly overwhelmed him. It felt like his mind had unlocked some sort of secret that he was never meant to discover. He didn’t even notice that he’d screamed until George was running to him, compass in hand, a panicked look on his face.

“Dream?” George asked, kneeling down next to him. “Dream, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“George,” Dream whimpered, hands clenching and unclenching all at once. “George.”

George pulled him into a hug, which Dream greatly appreciated. The former was taken aback; he’d never seen Dream look so helpless, and it _scared_ him. The hunter was now crying pitifully onto his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt like his life depended on it. George rubbed his back soothingly, whispering words of comfort to him.

“Dream, it’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m here, I’m here.” Dream trembled against him, his hands shaking as he pulled George even closer to him. “You’re going to be okay, Dream.”

“George…” Dream sobs grew quieter, fading into faint hiccups. “I… I know why I’ve been feeling so weird today.”

“Y-You do?” George felt him nod against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I…” A lump formed in Dream’s throat. “I think I used to have a life here. Like, _the_ past life of all past lives.”

George’s eyes widened. “The… The life before you were a Hunter, you mean?”

Dream pulled away from the embrace and nodded hesitantly. “Yeah… I think. When we first got here, it felt like I already knew the whole place like the back of my hand. I know where the bakery is. I know where the best deals for the crops are. Hell, I could tell you where I first scraped my knee when I was younger.”

The sickening feeling in his gut made way to the cold, numbing dread within him.

“I could… my house…”

“Are you sure you want to go there?” George asked worriedly as he watched Dream get up to his feet, arrows in hand. “We could… we could leave, if you want.”

Dream shook his head. “I’m already here. I want to know what… what happened to me.”

“Do you still know the way?”

“Of course.” Dream started walking. “It was my _home._ ”

The dirt path led towards a decently-sized stone house, vines and moss dancing in its crevices, its wooden roof looking as though it wanted to collapse onto itself. A small garden nearby—overgrown, wilting; he wouldn’t have liked that—reminded him of someone, but his mind felt too foggy to recall their exact features. He distantly remembered a high, gentle voice reprimanding him and… someone else… 

He daren’t think whose name belonged to who.

“Think it’s abandoned?” George asked.

Dream shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Then he pushed the door open.

 **> Continue.**

It was a little less deserted than he’d expected, but it didn’t seem like someone was using it much. The furnace looked like it hadn’t been lit in _ages._ The chests stacked on the shelves nearby were collecting dust. A quick peek into the bedrooms— _five_ beds, some of them converted into bunk beds—revealed that only one person had been living there, at least, judging by the wrinkled sheets compared to the other ones that had been neatly tucked in place.

Five beds. Four names. Who’s left?

“Dream, look!”

George’s voice sent him running back to the living room, where George had taken a peek into one of the chests.

“ _Fifteen_ Ender Pearls! _And_ fresh armor!” he exclaimed. “We’re set!”

“George, we can’t just _take_ stuff!”

“That’s never stopped us before,” George huffed. “Besides, this is _your_ house. Maybe these were yours.”

“I don’t feel right taking them,” Dream insisted. “I don’t know. We should probably just leave.”

“But Dream—”

“George, _please._ ”

“What are you doing in my house?!” A heavily accented voice suddenly startled them out of their wits. “Get out, thieves! Out! Out!”

Dream turned around to face the newcomer and almost choked on his own spit. _He_ looked older, his hair streaked with silver, his beard even bushier than what he remembered. His voice had grown more gruff, more angry… and yet, he seemed more frail. More _vulnerable._ An intimidating aura lent itself around the man, but Dream couldn’t find it in himself to be scared.

“Vincent?” falls out of his lips in an awed voice.

Suddenly, the old man’s demeanor changes, and he quickly turns pale. “No…” he mumbles, more to himself than towards them. “He’s been dead for several years, Xem. He’s gone. _They’re_ gone.”

“What?” Dream pressed on further. “Who is?”

His head snaps up to look at the masked man, fear in his eyes. “You… You sound just like Clay.”

George watched, frozen in place, as Dream grabbed his mask and pushed it upwards.

“Am _I_ Clay?” Dream asked in a faint whisper.

Vincent gasped in shock, leaning into the doorframe to steady himself. George immediately rushed to support him.

“My God,” he says, inhaling shakily. “It is you, _putain de merde_ —how?! How did you live?!” Vincent pulls his arm away from George’s, a trembling, accusatory finger pointing at Dream. “Do you know—do you know just how much I’ve _suffered,_ how long I—”

He broke down into sobs, the rage dissipating from him, leaving only the cold, cruel loneliness he’d been forced to bear. Dream wrapped him into a comforting hug, one that Vincent was grateful for.

“To be honest, I don’t know either,” he confessed. “I only remembered today, when I arrived at the village. Things are still so blurry to me, so I’d like your help in making things clearer.”

“I can… I can do that.” Vincent took deep breaths and pulled away from the embrace. He led them over to the dining table, or at least, what remained of it. Dream relished in the familiarity of his favorite chair, one of the three without the wobbly legs. George sat beside him, clasping his hand comfortingly and rubbing circles with his thumb.

“So,” Vincent began, staring at the two of them, “what do you want to know?”

“What happened to me?” Dream frowned. “I remember leaving the house with… someone. Then nothing else, except… my strange existence.”

“You left to fight the Ender Dragon.” Vincent’s voice was soft. “You took Nick and Cash with you, then the next thing I knew, everyone else was leaving me too.”

“Cash…?” The distant memory of a gray ball of fur bounding in the grass flashed in his mind. His heart clenched in his chest.

Vincent nodded. “Nick’s pet wolf. I don’t see him with you now so I don’t think he…” He stayed silent for a few minutes. “I-I think I should get a chance to ask you things too.”

“Of course.” Dream felt frustrated. What else had he forgotten? How could he forget his pets, his friends, and trade them away for an endless cycle of death and rebirth?

“Do you remember how you died?” George tensed beside him, but a quick squeeze of his hand calmed him down. “…You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

 _His legs felt like rubber from all the running. All it took was a forceful shove behind his back, and suddenly Clay found himself falling down…_

 _…down…_

 _…down into the jagged depths of the ravine._

 _And then nothing._

“Dream?” George whispered. Dream shook his head, trying to calm down his racing heart. 

“I fell,” he managed to say, his mouth feeling numb and dry. “Somebody pushed me.”

“What about Nick?” Vincent asked quietly.

“I don’t… I don’t even remember what he looked like.” Dream’s gaze turned towards the floor. “All I have are… are names. Blurry figures. You’re probably the only figure in my past whose face I can put a name to.”

“Oh! Hold on.” Vincent stood up and hobbled over to the chests, retrieving an old, leatherbound journal. He took an old, wrinkled photograph pressed in between the pages and placed it in front of Dream.

It was a photo of five people. Dream recognized himself—recognized _Clay,_ whose face he still sported—who had an arm around someone’s shoulders, bearing a big, bright grin on his face. _So young, so innocent. None of them knew what horrors awaited them._

“That’s Nick,” Vincent said, pointing at the young man next to him. White bandanna floating in the wind. Smirking at the camera. 

“This is me.” An exasperated-looking lad being squished right next to Nick. So much younger than any of them. 

“That’s Darryl.” Fluffy hair swooping over big, bright eyes. Mouth curved into an open-mouthed smile.

“And finally, Zak.” Messy hair, mirthful face. Had his arm linked through Darryl’s, holding a thumb up at the camera.

“What happened to them?” Dream asked, trying to commit their faces to memory. His head felt so full, like it was about to burst. He’s lived for too long—stored so much more information than what his mind knew what to do with.

George stared at the photograph, trying to reconcile Clay with the Dream sitting right next to him. His heart felt nothing but pity for the poor man. Dream tucked the picture safely in his cloak.

“Well, you went with Nick.” Vincent sat back down, resting his head onto his hand. “When you didn’t return, Darryl got worried, so he went after you.” That could explain the overgrown garden. It was _Darryl’s_ after all.

Vincent cleared his throat. “Darryl never came back… Zak didn’t take it too well.” His voice was thick with emotion. “It took about a year before he snapped. He couldn’t take the grief of losing all three of you, especially when the _rumors_ happened. So he just… left.”

“Rumors?” George asked.

“The ones about, ah, the _Hunters._ ” Vincent’s voice dropped to a low whisper, his eyes darting towards the windows. Dream fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. “Some say they’ll stop at nothing just to kill those who want the Ender Dragon dead—even going so far as reviving themselves whenever they die.”

Vincent shook his head, laughing ruefully. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s why I kept putting off my own mission.” He gestured lamely at the shelf of chests. “A kind cleric gave me a bunch of Ender Pearls; I think you already saw them.”

“You had reason to fear them,” Dream spoke up quietly. “They—no, _we_ —were dangerous. The rumors were true. The Hunters are real. I’m one of them.”

“Are you serious?!” Vincent cried incredulously. “Everything I’ve learned—everything I’ve _tried_ to warn everyone about—it was all _real!_ ” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “They cast me out for _nothing!_ ”

“Vincent, please—”

“Now I know I’m dreaming,” Vincent laughed hollowly. “I’m going to wake up alone in my bed, with my things untouched and with you finally gone. I’m done. I’ve _finally_ gone insane. The villagers were right—I should’ve died with all of you a long time ago.”

“ _No!_ ” George blurted out. The other two stared at him in alarm. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I-I may not have known you for as long as you two have, Vincent, but I…” He glanced at Dream for support. “I know you _don’t_ deserve to die. Nobody does. If you did then… I don’t know how Dre—how Clay—would’ve felt about that.” 

He bit his lip, feeling a little silly about his outburst. “He would’ve been more confused and I… I wouldn’t have known how to help him. I _hated_ seeing him so helpless, and I couldn’t do anything about it—I…”

“George, breathe.” Dream rubbed a soothing hand on his back, pulling him into a one-armed hug. He continued stroking his arm comfortingly, quieting down George’s sobs. He then turned to Vincent, who was watching them curiously, his chest heaving as he tried to control his breathing.

“I never really did thank you for letting us in, Vincent,” Dream said sincerely. “So thank you. I… I know it must’ve been hard but…” He shrugged. “I’m still here. And I’m glad you are too.”

“So you lived because you became a Hunter?” 

Dream nodded. “Yeah, I suppose. I was always respawning—always getting _reset_ —every time I died. I think that’s why I hadn’t aged at all.”

“Does everyone become a Hunter when they die?” Vincent murmured.

“I don’t think so,” Dream replied, unsure. The thought of Illumina, or maybe even sweet _Darryl_ becoming a Hunter unnerved him. “I haven’t encountered anyone else, at least.”

“The sun is setting, Dream,” George mumbled, seeing the orange light filtering in through the windows.

“Can we stay for the night?” Dream asked.

Vincent smiled, this time a little more genuinely. “You know where your bed is.”

“Of course,” Dream replies, and because he couldn’t help himself, adds a “hope you haven’t been sleeping in it.”

George chuckled beside him. Vincent rolled his eyes. “I have my own bed, bastard.”

“You wound me.” Dream smiled when he heard George’s giggly laugh again. “But no, seriously. Thank you, Vincent.”

“Thank _you,_ ” Vincent replied sincerely. “I never thought I’d say this, but I missed seeing you around, Clay. I… I guess I’ll go get more wood for the furnace.”

“I have some,” Dream replied, but Vincent held his hand up to stop him.

“You’re technically guests so don’t even bother.”

He already left the house before Dream could interrupt, making the latter laugh and shake his head.

“So,” George spoke. “Clay, huh?”

Dream tried not to think about the warm feeling settling in his stomach upon hearing his name on George’s lips. “Yeah, but I can still be Dream for you.”

“I like both,” George replied, leaning closer onto Dream’s shoulder.

Dream nestled his nose onto George’s soft brown hair, resisting the attempt to kiss the top of his head. He was surprised to feel his locks directly in his face; he’d almost forgotten that he’d taken his mask off in the heat of the moment. 

“George, you’ve seen my face now,” he said, alarmed.

“Yeah,” George mumbled. “In the photo too. I won’t lie when I say I felt betrayed, but I understand why you had to do it.”

“Oh, George,” He held him even tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know that it doesn’t matter to me what you looked like, right?” George lifted his head to face him, his hand coming up to tenderly cup his jaw. “You could’ve been the ugliest man in the Overworld and I’d still…” A pretty blush settled onto his cheeks. “I would…” 

“Yes, George?” Dream asked in a small whisper, afraid that his shaking voice would give away his true feelings. He could feel George’s breath on his lips.

George’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning in to close the distance when—

“Ah, fuck. Wrong time?”

Dream and George quickly jumped away from each other, the latter’s face as red as a rose. Vincent loitered by the door, a bundle of logs in his arms. He coughed once, cheeks dusted pink.

“It’s fine!” Dream said, his voice a few octaves higher. “I’ll help you with that!!!”

“I’m going to bed,” George declared, marching straight out of the room. “Good night!”

“He’s a good influence on you,” Vincent remarked once George was out of earshot. “Especially if he managed to convince your stubborn ass not to kill him.”

A small, fond smile spread across Dream’s lips. “Yeah, yeah he is.”

 **> Continue.**

When Dream woke up in his bed, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu hit him before he suddenly remembered yesterday’s events. This was his old house. His old room. _Clay’s_ old room. _Right._

There were still many pieces left to solve in the puzzle that was his past, but thanks to Vincent’s help, he felt less confused and more sure of himself than before. He carefully made his way down the top bunk, put his mask back on, and made his way to the little living room-kitchen area, where George and Vincent seemed to be in deep conversation over cups of hot cocoa.

He stops himself from going further, the memory of last night suddenly flashing in his mind’s eye. _George’s hands, soft but roughened from their adventures, tenderly cupping his jaw. His breath, warm against his lips. Had Vincent not stepped in, they would have—_

 _He would’ve—_

“…he’s just so reckless, you know?” Dream caught snippets of George’s voice. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of his respawning thing or something.”

“Clay’s always been like that,” Vincent chuckled. “Almost fell one too many times from the trees he’s always climbing, I swear.”

George laughs, and it’s then that Dream decided to make his presence known. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

George blurted out a “no!” at the same time Vincent let out a “fuck off!”. Dream snickered.

“Language!” he says, placing a hand over his heart. Vincent laughs.

“I was just talking to George about your misadventures,” he said. “Looks like you still haven’t changed much.”

“I’ve changed plenty,” Dream huffed, and Vincent chuckled.

“You’re right. A lot has changed,” he agreed. “I figured that if I can’t stop you from continuing your quest, at least let me help you one last time.” He went over to the chests and retrieved the fifteen Ender Pearls. He gave them to George, who carefully stored them in a leather pouch before putting them in his rucksack.

Vincent also grabbed a gleaming diamond sword and handed it to Dream. “For you. I never got much use out of it.” It had been crafted in such a way that it remained hard, but much more flexible. A stunning, brilliant weapon—and Vincent was just giving it away.

“You won’t be coming with us?” Dream asked, mouth agape.

“I’m an old man,” Vincent chuckled. “I won’t be of much help to either of you. But know that you’re always welcome here, if you ever decide to go back.”

Dream smiled sadly and wrapped his arms around him tightly. “It was good to see you again.”

“Thirty years was too long,” Vincent replied, returning the embrace.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Dream said, breaking the hug. “You can rest easy now.”

“And now you’re telling me to die,” Vincent says lightly. The corners of his eyes crinkle up. 

Dream laughs and rolls his eyes. “Not like that, idiot.”

Vincent turns to George and claps him on the back. “Take care of him now, you hear me? If I hear that he’s dead again on your watch, it’s _your_ back you’d better be watching next.”

George chuckled. “Of course.” He glanced at Dream, who was busy sheathing away the sword. “As if I’d ever let him get hurt ever again.”

“You’re a good man, George.”

“You too, Vincent.”

“You ready George?” Dream called out, tossing the bow over to him. “I left the arrows in your pack.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” George grinned, catching it with ease. “Let’s go!”

Vincent pointed them over in the direction of the ocean, where the four friends had supposedly headed before dropping off the radar. He bid them farewell in a rickety wooden boat, waving goodbye until they were nothing but a speck in the horizon. Dream rowed the oars at a steady pace as George gazed around the blue surroundings.

“I’ve never been to the ocean before,” he mused, dipping a finger into the water.

“Careful, a Drowned might get you.”

George immediately retracted his hand, glaring at Dream. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Whatever.”

Dream took a quick glance at George, who was now busy staring at the corals in the distance. Sometimes, a school of fish would swim past them, scales glistening in bright colors. A couple of squids would poke their heads above the water before diving back down in its inky depths. George would let out a little giggle every few moments or so before eventually falling silent. He turned his attention back to the way ahead, his mind still swirling with thoughts of yesterday.

 _If I leaned in, would he have kissed me back…?_

“You’re quiet today,” Dream said softly, trying to distract himself.

“Just thinking,” George murmured.

 _How many lines would we have crossed if we did?_

Dream took a shot in the dark. “Is this about yesterday? We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“…Thank you.”

 _Oh. So he was thinking about it._ Dream didn’t have the heart to confront him yet.

As if sensing the tension in the air, a dolphin suddenly leapt out of the water, squeaking beside their boat.

“A dolphin!” Dream and George exclaimed at the same time.

Dream almost lost control of the oars as the dolphin pushed them forward, its trilling noises almost mocking when George nearly lost his balance. It swam away, sounding as though it were laughing at their predicament. George rolled his eyes as Dream let out an amused guffaw.

“Not funny,” George huffed. “Didn’t laugh.”

Suddenly, a trident shot out of the water, missing their boat by a few inches. George screamed in alarm, pointing at the strange figure lurking underwater.

“Cl—Dream!” George sputtered, “Dream there’s a—there’s a—DREAM! There’s a _man!_ With a _trident!_ G-Go! Go! GO!”

“I _am!_ ” Dream yelled, using the adrenaline rushing in his veins to row even _faster._ “We’re out of the area now, chill!”

“What was that?!” George tried to calm himself down. “Was that a—a gurgler or something—?”

“A Drowned,” Dream corrected him. “It won’t get us on land, so we’ll be safe from them by then, at least. Told you I wasn’t lying.”

“My heart was _racing._ ” George let out a big exhale. “Remind me to never doubt you again, Dream. Your words are the absolute truth now and forever.”

“What, you doubted me before?” Dream giggled.

“Not anymore, even though you’re such an idiot most of the time.”

“If my words are the absolute truth,” Dream hummed, “then I say I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s cheating!” George crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look angry, but the grin on his face betrayed him.

“How is that cheating?” Dream cackled loudly. “You’re the one who said I can only tell the truth!”

“Oh, so now what? _I’m_ the idiot?”

“Of course not.” A pause. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, George.”

“I—Uh—” George blinked a few times, red dusting his cheeks. “I _do_ give myself credit! Whatever… I take back my earlier statement.”

“Which one?”

“The one about you being the absolute truth.”

“Fair enough.”

George squints at something in the distance. “Dream! Look!” He pointed forward excitedly. “Land!”

“Yes!” Suddenly energized, Dream attempted to move the oars as quickly as he could while George cheered him on. It didn’t take long before they finally managed to set their feet onto the sand, the waves crashing behind them. Dream retrieved the Ender Eye in his cloak and threw it overhead, following wherever it landed until it suddenly shattered, to their dismay.

“We’re close,” Dream breathed. “This place looks familiar.”

George nodded. “Are you afraid?”

“If this was the same stronghold Nick and I got to—or tried to, at least—we could end up seeing more about…” He took a gulp of breath. “…about what happened to us.”

George’s hand twitched by his side, wanting to grab Dream’s hand again. He stopped himself, only giving a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here with you whenever you need me.”

To his surprise, Dream took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, George.”

George clasped his hand back, his smile growing a little wider. “Anytime.”

They ended up sacrificing one of the pearls to make another Ender Eye and followed it deep into the birch forest, where it finally sunk down to the ground. George’s eye caught something, and his heart dropped down in his stomach.

“Dream,” he murmured, “look.”

Dream followed his gaze until he saw the wooden trapdoor blending in with the grassy surroundings, vines growing over it like a tough layer of rope. A cold feeling of dread suddenly enveloped him. Taking a deep breath, he cut away the vines and lifted up the heavy hatch, revealing wooden rungs set into the rocky walls like a crude ladder.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” George replied.

Dream led the way, his grip on the rungs shaking as he descended further and further into the darkness. Suddenly, he saw the faint pinpricks of light down below and carefully quickened his pace, telling George to hurry up. Once his feet reached the old stone bricks, he was shocked to see what awaited them in the stronghold.

 **> Continue.**

  
Papers.

Just _papers,_ scattered everywhere like a storm had gone through a library and completely destroyed it.

Dream picked up one of the pages on the floor, face quickly paling at the contents.

“What is it?” George asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“It’s… it’s some notes on Endermen, I think. But that’s not all.” His brows furrowed together, carefully tracing each letter with his finger. “This is my handwriting.”

“So you’ve been here before,” George breathed, picking up another page. “This one’s in the same handwriting, I think.”

“Yeah.” Dream’s hands grew clammy. “This feels _surreal._ Like I’ve been living a double life even I didn’t know about.”

“Why would you throw away these notes, though?” George thought aloud. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you kept it all in one place?”

“I think…” The gears in Dream’s head started turning. “I might have been trying to create a diversion.”

“A diversion?”

“Someone was chasing me when I died.” He followed the paper trail past the oak door, the corridor already lit up with torches. “I might’ve been trying to blind them or something. Maybe I tried obscuring information."

"This one looks different," George noted, picking up another page. "You're right, it _is_ about Endermen, at least, that's what I think this is."

Dream looked over at the sketch, as well as the hurried scribbles of _"water works?!?"_ at the margins. A faint smile appeared on his lips.

"That's Nick alright," he said. "Looks like we both got to the stronghold in the end."

"You were so close," George murmured, unconsciously rubbing his arm.

"Hey now." Dream placed a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you. I can revive for as many times as I want, so you don't need to worry about me. I just need a place to sleep and I'll be good to go."

"I can't _not_ worry about you!" George protested, his eyes pleading. "You throw yourself into danger like it's nothing. You're going to kill me from the stress."

"Maybe that was my plan all along." Dream's chuckles faded away upon seeing George's frown. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It's just… when you're so used to being revived over and over again, you start taking your life for granted." He drew his hand back to himself, turning his head away. "Limbs grow. Wounds heal. Scars fade. It hurts at first but then you'll feel nothing again. It's like it was never there in the first place."

"Dream," George said seriously, reaching for Dream's masked face. "Promise me you'll try not to get hurt for my sake."

"George," Dream chuckled nervously, desperately wishing he could feel George's touch on his burning cheeks again, "I can't promise that—"

" _Promise me, Dream._ "

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I promise."

"Good." George wrapped him in a crushing embrace. "I don't know what I'd do if you died for me. I… I won't be able to bear seeing you die over and over again."

Dream hugged him back tightly. "I don't want to see you die either, George," he murmured. "It'd break me."

They stood there in the cold, damp hallway for a few moments, holding each other as though they would fade from existence the minute one of them let go. Dream rested his head onto the other's, and George listened to the steady rhythm of Dream's heart. He was alive, _they_ were alive, and it scared him to think what would happen otherwise.

"Dream," George spoke up, throat dry.

"Hmm?"

"I think I lo—"

The sudden groan of a zombie stopped George from saying anything further. Dream immediately drew his blade, slicing cleanly through the creature and killing it immediately.

"You were saying?"

"I think… I think we need to move on."

Dream frowned. "That was it?"

George nodded lamely. "Yeah… Yeah that was it."

"You're right." Dream moved along the hallways, passing through doors of wood and iron. "Imagine the odds of us coming across that village _and_ this stronghold. I probably wouldn't have been able to retrieve my memories."

"It would have been awful," George agreed, trying to decipher the dual writings on the notes he collected. "Looks like it was only the two of you here. There's no other penmanship other than yours and Nick's."

Dream suddenly stopped. "George, look." Headed by an arch of iron bars, a room lit up by wells of lava greeted their eyes. Moss and dampness lined the walls, along with windows of steel frames. There in the middle sat a staircase of cracked stone bricks, leading up to a platform with its true treasure: the End Portals. The endstone base floated above a pool of lava like it was nothing, a three-by-three array of frames awaiting their keys. Dream felt a little intimidated. He'd never gotten to this point with anyone else, ever.

"There's one Ender Eye in there," George noted. "We're so lucky Vincent gave us enough. Imagine hunting down eleven more Endermen…" He shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, a scuttling sound alarmed them, and Dream yelled in pain, seeing a cluster of wriggling, silvery insects half the size of his foot, jumping and nipping through the leather of his pants.

"Silverfish!" he cried in alarm. “Get them, George!”

“I’ve got you!” George yelled, bringing out his axe and hacking away at the creatures. 

“There must be a spawner here.” Dream’s eyes quickly darted around the room. “These things can’t appear this quickly without one.” He finally managed to see the iron cage atop the stairs and swiftly destroyed it with his pickaxe. 

George easily disposed of the remaining pests before running over to Dream, looking him over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, George,” Dream said, secretly relishing George’s attention. “They were just bites, nothing more.”

“I know.” George fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I’m just worried about you.” He cleared his throat. “We should… we should look for someplace else to make the Ender Eyes. We don’t know if there’s more silverfish around.”

Dream nodded. “The papers didn’t stop here. I bet we’ll find out more at the end of the trail.”

At the end of the hallway stood a heavy wooden door, with dual torches hanging on either side of it. Pushing it open, they were surprised to see even _more_ papers scattered on the ground. George picked up as many as he could while Dream explored the rest of the room.

It was a little library of sorts, with its maze of bookshelves capped in a thick layer of dust as well as dense networks of cobwebs. Dream spotted a little ladder off in the back and beckoned George over. The latter hurried over to him, arms bearing a ton of pages. They went upstairs, where two crude woolen beds were set up in the darkest corners of the area. They dusted the sheets before collapsing onto one of the beds, George dropping his papers all over it.

“Hey.” George pointed at a dust-covered chest by the corner. “Think there’s something good in there?”

“Nick and I have clearly been here,” Dream said. “It’s probably been looted anyway, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

George stumbled over to it and scoffed at the contents. “Ugh. Just more blank paper, and a book, I guess.” Something slipped from inside the pages, and his eyes immediately widened in alarm. “Dream!”

“What’s wrong?”

George wordlessly held up a crumpled up photograph of three figures—Clay, Nick and Darryl, it seemed. Splatters of blood marked its corner, as well as that of the book itself. Dream went pale.

George sat back down next to him and shifted through the pages. “I’m going to try and figure out what you’ve been writing about.”

“Endermen, right?” Dream frowned.

“Yeah. But look here”—George pointed at a specific paragraph—“where you mentioned something about Dragon’s Breath.”

“What?!” Dream squinted at the page, alarmed. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’d need to have defeated the Dragon before getting its breath. There’s no other way out of the End.”

“Unless there were other Dragons before it,” George countered. “Then someone could’ve gotten it and gotten out easily.”

“That’s even more ridiculous.” Dream’s head was swimming. “Why would Hunters need to protect it if there’s more that existed?”

“Maybe it’s an endangered species kind of thing.” George shrugged, reading down the other pages. “You said that when you killed the guy chasing you, you managed to collect Dragon’s Breath from where he died…?”

“Let me see that.” Dream wrenched the book from George’s hands, his palms growing sweaty.

George was right.

The foul-smelling gas had apparently lingered on after Dream—or Clay, _whatever_ —took out their assailant with his trusty bow. A recipe on healing potions followed on the next page, along with his musings on whether or not adding the Breath would drastically affect the brew.

"I think…" Clay began slowly, "I think the reason I'm able to respawn is because I've got Dragon's Breath in my veins. A-Assuming the guy I killed was a Hunter."

George's eyes widened. "That's pretty believable. After all, it does tend to linger on for a long time."

His existence felt so _strange._ Perhaps the time he spent away from killing his targets finally gave him time to think about himself. George took notice of his discomfort and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I think this was your journal. Do you want to continue on reading, Dream?” George asked softly. “I could always craft the Ender Eyes while we wait.”

 **> Read the journal.**  
**> Craft the Eyes.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“I want to read it,” Clay replied.

George nodded. “Want me to give you some space?”

“No, please stay with me.”

“Okay.” George scooted over to him as he grabbed the pearls in the leather pouch as well as the blaze rods in his pack, easily crushing the metal into fine powder.

Clay turned his attention back to the journal, picking off interesting tidbits as he read along.

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> It’s probably been a week since Nick and I got trapped here. I’ve tried asking him to come with me above ground to find Endermen, but he’s convinced that there’s someone still with us in the stronghold. He keeps hearing footsteps everywhere and it’s driving us insane. He wants me to throw away our notes but I can’t do it.
> 
> I’m convinced that whatever it was that I got from the guy I killed could be the key to immortality. If I can just figure it out, I think we could achieve a lot of good in the Overworld.”

He chuckles hollowly to himself. _A lot of good… yeah right. As if killing all those innocent people could be considered “good”._ George hums beside him, leaning into his shoulder. Dream smiles faintly at the action.

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> I found a book in the library today about an ancient society of guardians. It’s talking about how it used to deify the Ender Dragons, swearing to always protect them with their lives despite the chaos they reigned. Apparently the guardians weren’t doing good enough, as the dragons started dwindling in number. They sealed themselves in the End in a last attempt to preserve the last one and nobody knew what happened to them ever since. 
> 
> I think it’s fascinating, but Nick thinks it’s silly. He’s been collecting papers all day and writing—maybe I’ve finally convinced him to. He really hasn’t been the same after Cash went missing in the birch forest.
> 
> He still wants me to throw away my journal. I think this will be good for whoever comes to this stronghold next, though. Then they won’t have to read through the twenty other books I found on the subject.”

An ancient society of guardians? Nothing in his memories came up regarding the matter. Dream wondered if he and George would come face to face with them once they jumped through the portal. If they were anything like the current Hunters, he feared they’d be powerful enough to stop them.

Dream snuck a glance towards George, who had just gone through five pearls. His heart dropped to his stomach; he’d rather die first than let George be killed.

 _But the promise—_

 _—it’s not more important than George’s life, Clay._

 _But you’ll end up breaking his heart._

 _At least he’ll still have a beating one. At least he’ll still be alive._

Dream shakes his head and continues reading.

> "XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> An obscure potions book said that what I've gotten the other day was Dragon's Breath; it makes potions last longer after throwing them. As long as an Ender Dragon is still alive, it will never fizzle out. They've reported incidents of the Breath suddenly disappearing before reappearing again. Just how many dragons are there in existence?”

Dream stilled for a moment. If they killed the Dragon, would the Breath keeping him alive suddenly disappear?

 _Would he die permanently?_

"George," he began, "it says here that the Breath will stick around as long as one Dragon is still alive."

"You're still able to respawn," George said, realization dawning on his face, "so it must have gone undefeated for many years."

"Would I die with it if it does?" Dream thought aloud.

"I won't let you," George said quietly. "I'll keep you safe, Dream. I promise that."

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> It's strange how there's barely any books on Endermen in this library. I suggested examining them to Nick and he refused, as usual. I can't let him know that I wasted a pearl by cutting it open to see how it works. It disappeared, of course, the minute the skin broke—but it left this weird fruity smell lingering in the air. I don't think I recognize that scent in the Overworld.
> 
> I couldn't bottle it the way I did the Breath, though. Imagine making a potion that could teleport you anywhere!
> 
> I just want answers. I feel like Nick wants to go home. I can't blame him though—it's my fault for suggesting this quest in the first place. I just want the world to be better.”

"I found out that Ender Pearls leave behind a fruity smell when you cut them open," Dream said.

"Why would you cut one open in the first place?" George asked, distracted by the swirling powder.

"Didn't know how Endermen worked, I think." Dream paused, flipping through the rest of the entries. "Yeah. After that entry, there were more notes that popped up about them. Why was I so obsessed with them?"

 _Immortality?_

A great chunk of the remaining pages have been violently ripped away, little shreds of paper remaining behind. There was but one page left with writing on it, the rest blank or torn apart.

> "XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> THEY'RE HERE.  
>  I can see the flashes of pink and green.  
>  They got him while we were hunting mobs.  
>  There was so much blood.  
>  I found Nick's body by the portal room this morning.  
>  When I came back to bury it, it was gone.  
>  I'm sorry.  
>  I'm sorry.  
>  I'm taking his advice.  
>  Fuck the notes.  
>  They're here for me.  
>  Help. _Help. Help. **Help. H e l p.**_ ”

Dream sighed and closed the journal. He presumed that Clay threw it in the chest afterwards and just booked it out of there with the papers in his hands. Speaking of the papers, they only detailed things that Dream already knew, like how Endermen feared water, and that if you hit it in a certain spot, you could accidentally damage its pearl and leave it useless.

“You finished?” George asked.

“Yeah.”

“So am I.” He proudly showed off the eleven Ender Eyes he’d just crafted. “Do you think we’re prepared to go to the End now?”

“My mind is reeling.” Dream shook his head. “I think… I think I want to sleep.” His hand circled around George’s wrist before the man could stand, begging him a silent question.

 _Don’t leave me._

George sighed fondly at the action. “Let me just put these away first.” He fetched his rucksack, placing it closer to the bed and leaving his bow with it. When he’d turned around to face Dream, the other had an arm up while lying on his side.

“What are you doing, Dream?” George asked, chuckling.

“I want to hug you,” Dream replied. “I’m not sure if we’ll end up surviving in the end, so…”

“Shh, let’s not talk about that yet.” George lied down next to him, fulfilling his request. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“He died before I did, George.” Dream buried his nose into George’s soft hair, trembling slightly. “They got him and I couldn’t—I couldn’t protect him.” He took a ragged breath. “He just wanted things to be over with, but I—I—”

“Shh, shh,” George whispered, stroking Dream’s hair gently. “You couldn’t have known. You did all you could.”

“But I _didn’t,_ ” Dream said weakly. “I forced us to go on a quest for immortality. He just wanted to go home.”

“We’ll avenge him tomorrow,” George said. “I promise.”

“I got what I wanted—I’m practically immortal now. But at what cost?”

“Shh, get some rest, Dream.” He didn’t miss the way George squeezed him tighter. “It will all be better in the morning. We’ll fight for Nick. For Darryl, Zak, and Vincent too.”

“I trust you,” Dream murmured into chocolate brown locks, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “I love you, George.”

Had he been awake enough, he would’ve felt George’s hand still on his head, would’ve seen the way he tensed, would’ve heard his breath hitch at the confession.

He would’ve heard the soft _“I love you too”_ in return.

 **> Continue.**

“I want to craft the Ender Eyes instead,” Clay replied.

George nodded. “Want me to give you some space?”

“No, please stay with me.”

“Okay.” George let him scoot over beside him. Clay grabbed the pearls in the leather pouch as well as the blaze rods in his pack, easily crushing the metal into fine powder.

It was a comforting process, watching the blaze powder mix with the jellylike contents of the Ender Pearl. The membrane skin immediately hardened, making it more impervious towards accidental breaking. George was skimming the pages beside him, breathing softly.

“You went on a quest for immortality,” he said.

“What for?” Dream’s brows furrowed together. There wasn’t anything fun about being one; at least, that’s what being a Hunter taught him.

“Making the world a better place.” George sighed. Dream couldn’t help but do the same. _Yeah, right…_ “You thought that the Dragon’s Breath could be the key to it.”

“Oh.”

George shifted slightly, leaning against Dream’s shoulder. The latter already had four Ender Eyes in his possession, already working on another. George made a sudden humming noise.

“What?” Dream asked.

“Nothing, just something interesting.”

“It can’t be nothing _and_ interesting at the same time,” Dream chuckled.

“If I told you that Endermen are the remains of an ancient society of guardians, would you believe me?”

“What? That sounds ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” George smiled, as if he knew something Dream didn’t. “Your notes aren’t all that bad, actually.”

“My notes are ridiculous.”

George rolled his eyes. “So this is what it’s like to be in your mind,” he mused. “You’re always wanting to learn more. Twenty books for a report on how Dragon’s Breath works? I _wish_ I had the patience for that.”

“What? How does it work?”

“Here,” George pointed at a sentence. “ _‘As long as an Ender Dragon is still alive, it will never fizzle out’._ Therefore, if the Breath is still in your body, it means that the Dragon hasn’t died yet.”

“Or maybe another one lived,” Dream countered, his stomach suddenly churning anxiously.

“You're right,” George replied. “But the fact that you're still able to respawn means that the Dragon is still alive. Nobody has ever succeeded in killing it."

"Except _you_ will."

"Dream…"

"I'd be damned if I let anything happen to you."

"Dream, we talked about this," George sighed, bumping Dream's shoulder with his forehead. "Neither of us are going to die. We're both going to defeat the Dragon once and for all. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"I'll keep you safe, Dream. I promise you."

Dream watched as George reached the final page, his face darkening with the final entries. "What is it, George?"

"I don't think you'd want to see it," he replied. "I-It's Nick. He died before you."

"Oh." Dream's guts suddenly felt like lead.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." He stowed away the eleven Ender Eyes he'd just crafted into George’s rucksack. "I couldn't… I couldn't protect him."

George's arms suddenly wrapped around him. Dream leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort. He felt _powerless._ What if the same thing happened to George—?

"Let's get some rest for tonight," George whispered, tucking away his bow right next to his rucksack. "We'll be better in the morning."

George lied down on the bed right next to Dream, stroking his hair as he lulled him to sleep.

"I can't handle the thought of you ending up like my friends did," Dream whispered. "Alone. Missing. _Dead._ Especially because of _me._ " He enveloped George in his arms, squeezing tight.

"We'll fight for them, I promise. For Nick, Darryl, Zak, and Vincent. All of them."

“I trust you,” Dream murmured into chocolate brown locks, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “I love you, George.”

Had he been awake enough, he would’ve felt George’s hand still on his head, would’ve seen the way he tensed, would’ve heard his breath hitch at the confession.

He would’ve heard the soft _“I love you too”_ in return.

 **> Continue.**

Clay wakes up cocooned in a warm hug, and he immediately feels slightly better about the whole situation. The journal was now discarded onto the floor, its horrors bare to all. He reluctantly pulls himself away from George's arms to store it away in his rucksack. Maybe he could give it to Vincent—or maybe not, as it was too painful—but anything was better than leaving it to rot in this godforsaken stronghold.

George stirred on the bed, suddenly feeling cold. 

"Dream?" he asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You up already?"

"Just getting ready," Clay replied. George leaned his forehead onto Clay's back, breathing evenly. "Wanna eat some breakfast? We've got a big day ahead of us."

“What have you got?”

“Apples.” He tossed one over to George, who easily caught it in his hands. “I’m saving the meat and the bread for later.”

“Smart,” George remarked through a mouthful of apple.

“I try to be.”

George laughed and Clay smiled, taking a bite out of his own fruit. They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, eating quietly as they ruminated on their plans.

“Are you ready, George?” Clay asked. “This could—This could be the end, you know.”

“We’ll make sure it won’t come to that.” George flashed him a brilliant smile, and it eased down Clay’s nerves. He gave George’s hand a grateful squeeze, which he returned.

“Let’s go.”

George retrieved his pack and slung the bow around his shoulder. Clay made sure that his sword was safely in its sheath behind his back before shrugging on his knapsack. They gave each other a silent nod before descending down the rickety ladder and back onto the library’s main floor. It had scarcely been a minute before Clay’s ears suddenly picked up a sound that should not have been there.

“George, quiet.” Clay’s head whirled around towards the door. “I think I heard something.”

“It’s probably just a zombie or a skeleton,” George reasoned, a hand already on his bow. “No need to panic.”

“No, that’s different.” Clay leaned in closer to the shelves, straining to hear more. “It sounds like…”

 _Footsteps._

Clay’s eyes widened and he immediately grabbed George by the arm, dragging him towards the exit. An arrow suddenly whizzed by George’s head, narrowly missing him.

“Muffins!” someone cursed in a harsh whisper.

 _No… it can’t be…_

“To the portal room!” George cried, distracting Clay from his thoughts. Someone was now definitely chasing after them, heels clacking on the stone brick.

It’s _absurd!_ Are Hunters allowed to hunt other Hunters? Then again, Dream might’ve been the only one who strayed from his purpose, protecting someone who wanted to kill the Dragon. He tried to get a glimpse of their assailant, tried to figure out _who—_

“Sapnap’s here!” another voice announced, and a figure emerged from the shadows, brandishing an iron axe.

 _White bandanna billowing behind him. A smug smirk playing on his lips._

Clay’s blood ran cold.

 _Nick._

“Sapnap!” cried their earlier pursuer. “Get them!”

“Isn’t that—” George faltered.

“On it, Bad!” _Sapnap_ shouted, running towards the duo. Clay whirled around to see someone aiming a crossbow at George, their hood obscuring their face in darkness. Time seemed to stop as Clay reached out for George with a cry, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the line of fire.

This _Bad_ person wasn’t fast enough, trying to reload their crossbow. Small mistake, as it gave Clay the opportunity he needed to tackle them to the ground, quickly holding his sword up to their neck, while George quickly aimed his bow at Sapnap.

“Dream,” George breathed, never taking his eyes off the taller man, “It’s _him,_ isn’t it?”

“He probably doesn’t remember, like I did.” Clay’s mouth was growing dry. “He won’t be able to answer to his name.” _If Nick’s here, maybe this could be…?_ In a fit of curiosity, Clay pulled down his captive’s hood.

 _Fluffy hair swooping over big, bright eyes. Mouth curved into a deep-set frown._

“Hey!” he cried, struggling in Clay’s grasp.

 _Darryl._

It was a miracle that Clay hadn’t dropped him yet out of shock.

“You could kill us a thousand times, but we’ll always be back for you!” Bad snarled. “Remember the names Sapnap and BadBoyHalo; we’ll be the ones to kill you once and for all!”

Sapnap took a swipe towards George, but the shorter man was quicker, easily lodging an arrow through his thick armor. He hissed in pain, but smiled regardless.

“Not bad,” he grinned, getting ready to pounce again.

“Dream! What do we do?” George yelled. “Maybe they’d listen to you if you tried!”

Clay weighed his options. He had to think fast—BadBoyHalo was seriously trying to get out of his grip, and Sapnap was clearly planning to slice through George despite his wounded shoulder.

 **> Try to convince them.**  
**> It's a lost cause.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“It’s a lost cause!” Clay cried, shaking his head. “It took a long time for me to trust you—not sure these guys will go any easier on us.”

George narrowly avoided Sapnap’s attack, shooting an arrow into his back. Sapnap cried in pain as George shot another into his head, instantly killing him. Clay distantly wondered if Nick felt the same way when he’d died the first time. Bad cried out for him, thrashing against the floor.

“G-Go,” Clay began, not trusting his voice, “go to the End. I’ll keep them busy.”

George shot him a heartbroken look. “But Dream—”

“ _Go._ ” Clay returned his look with a hardened glare. “If they kill you, it's over. They can't stop me for long.” His expression softened for a bit. “I love you, George. I believe in you.”

"I-I love you too, Dream," George replied tearfully before sprinting over to the portal room.

"You've gone soft," Bad hissed, and Clay almost flinched. "Have you forgotten what we're made to do?!" Bad hit him up the chin with his own head, causing him to let go of him.

"It's _madness,_ " Clay spat back, rubbing his jaw, "Killing all those innocent people for what?"

"Your words don't phase me, _Dream._ " Bad lifted his crossbow and fired a shot right to his shoulder.

"You can't keep killing me over and over again," Clay growled, clutching at his wound. _He should've made a shield today._ "I'll just keep coming back like you do."

"But _he_ won't," Bad replied, jerking his head back towards the portal room. Clay clenched his fist tightly around the hilt of his blade. "How are you so confident that _George_ will survive against the Ender Dragon?"

"Shut up!" He swung his sword at Bad, but the other was nimble on his feet.

"You've _doomed_ him, you muffinhead! You've killed him!"

"No!" Ignoring the tears clouding his vision, he thrust his sword directly into Bad's stomach, diamond edge cutting through the iron armor, revelling in the moment as the other coughed up blood. Bad smiled wickedly at him before disappearing into thin air.

That wasn't Darryl. That could _never_ be Darryl.

And just like that, all the mercy left in him vanished.

Dream heard someone's thundering footsteps down the hall, and he immediately made his way to the portal room, hurriedly covering the frames with lava. He watched as the endstone base became buried under the molten rock, his chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm. _Now no one can come after George._

Sapnap eventually poked his head in the room, raising his axe up high.

“C’mere Dream!” he yelled, taking one, two swings towards him. “What good do you think doing this will do?! You can’t go after George anymore now!”

“Maybe so,” Dream replied with a smirk. He pushed past Sapnap and ran down the platform, quickly grabbing a piece of bread from his pack to heal with. He gasped when the sharp edge of a blade suddenly slashed at his leg, white-hot pain bringing tears to his eyes.

“Can’t run very far now, can you?” Sapnap’s mocking laughter rang in his ears. “Maybe I’ll just leave you out here to bleed.”

“How does it feel to have been killed by one measly mortal?” Dream hissed, bringing up his sword.

“Shut it!” Sapnap roared, quickly bringing down the axe to his neck. Dream jolted, and disappeared.

He woke up in the little nook above the library, in the dusty bed where he and George spent the night. He could hear someone prowling down below—Bad, most likely—and then the loud clack of heels against stone.

“What are you doing here?” Bad snapped. “You’re supposed to be at the End by now!”

“Dream blocked off the portal with lava,” Sapnap hissed. “We’ll die before we even get there.”

“That muffinhead,” Bad grumbled. “Now he can’t even help George.”

“But he’s already _there!_ ” Sapnap pressed on. “Who knows how long it’d take for him to kill the Dragon?!”

“It’s barely been ten minutes,” Bad reassured him. “Come on. We have to find Dream. His respawn point can’t be far from here.”

Dream immediately hid himself back in the shadows. Green and brown clothing blended in with the mossy brick and the wooden walls; suddenly, he was back in his element again. _Silent. Undetectable._

The diamond sword barely glinted in the faint torchlight.

 _Immortal. Imposing. Impatient, but never impulsive._

George flashed in his mind, and his heart ached for his return. Bad and Sapnap had already left the library. His footsteps are quiet, deliberate, even as he makes his way downstairs.

 _What if the Dragon overpowered him? What then? Will he have to mourn him for an eternity and a half, or return to the cold shadows where he used to thrive?_

“Did you hear that?” Bad asked.

Sapnap barely had any time to reply before Dream slashed his back in a gory display, vermillion staining the floor. Bad fumbled for his crossbow, but Dream quickly disarmed him with a quick swipe of his arm.

His mind is clear.

His body is… weak?

Dream feels like collapsing to the floor, but he attributes it to the idea of killing his once-beloved friends, now turned into empty husks of killing machines. He stabs Bad in the chest once, twice, the damp crimson warmth seeping through his black clothes. He leaves them to bleed out in agony, kicking their weapons out of their reach.

“Finish us off, _coward!_ ” Sapnap spat, blood running down his chin.

“Darryl, Nick,” Dream breathed, his legs giving out onto the stone floor. “I only wish I could’ve saved you before. Goodbye.”

He didn’t miss the way their eyes suddenly widened, as if they suddenly saw him for the first time.

Cold dread immediately filled him to the core.

“C-Clay…?” Sapnap—no, _Nick_ —coughed out.

“Goodness,” Darryl breathed out, a wobbly smile curving his lips. “I’d thought you were dead.”

No. No. No. No. No. _No. No. No. **No. No.**_

 _This can’t be happening._

“D-D-Darryl…” Clay couldn’t move his jaw properly, frozen in shock. “N-Nick. W-What…?” 

He immediately removes his cloak, pressing it around Darryl’s wound like a makeshift tourniquet. Anything to stanch the bleeding—anything, _anything_ —but they’ll just respawn, right? Regaining their memories won’t stop them from reviving, right? The crimson pools around his knees, but he doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care—_

He feels a hand on his arm— _cold, cold, not again_ —and Darryl stills beneath him, a soft smile on his face.

His body doesn’t disappear. Clay blanches.

Clay turns to Nick, lying in a pool of his own blood. He wasn’t faring any better, his body moving in quiet heaves, his breath coming out in short, ragged puffs. Nick reaches out a hand to clasp his own.

Clay lifts his mask, uncaring whether or not Nick could see him crying.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says.

“No,” Clay’s voice cracked on the word. “No. No, hold on, Nick. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“I wish we did this differently.” Nick frowned, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. “Had I known—”

“How _did_ you know?”

“You said my name and I—”

“Dream!” came a shout from the direction of the library.

“I’m glad I saw you again,” Nick says, before his breathing ceased, and his eyes closed forever for the second time in his life.

“So am I,” Clay wept.

“Dream!” George came upon the grisly scene, suddenly horrified. “My god… what happened?”

“My fault,” Dream sobbed, “I killed them and it’s _my fault._ ”

“Aren’t they supposed to respawn? Oh, Dream.” He enveloped him in a warm, reassuring hug, letting him cry onto his shoulder. “Shhh. I’m here, I’m here.”

“They recognized me,” Clay hiccupped. “They called me _Clay._ I killed them, George. It’s my fault they’re dead.”

“You couldn’t have known,” George whispered. “They were after you, Dream. You were only protecting yourself.”

“They were my _friends._ I should’ve tried harder.”

“You didn’t know, you didn’t know,” George repeated, stroking his back. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Dream. You couldn’t have known.”

“It _hurts._ ”

“I’ll be here whenever you need me.” George held him tightly for a few more moments until Clay finally passed out in his arms, bone-tired and aching.

* * *

They ended up burying Nick and Darryl in the birch forest, where they eventually set up a little cottage for them to live out the rest of their days.

It took several months before he could ask George to relay him the tale of how he’d taken down the Dragon. Several months before he could let the story be untainted by the cold memories of the stronghold.

Now that the Ender Dragon had been defeated, there was no need for Hunters anymore. Clay had to remind himself that his death would be permanent now, rather than a ridiculous nuisance that he had to endure. 

George had been a ray of light in his darkest hours.

He’d eased him through countless nights, the fear of the crimson nightmares plaguing him again driving him into sleeplessness. He’d been a shoulder to cry on, a source of endless hugs and comforting touches. Clay couldn’t imagine surviving through the ordeal without George by his side.

Clay sat on the edge of their shared bed, watching George’s chest rise and fall with every breath. Sometimes he liked to watch George sleeping whenever he woke up first, appreciating that he was still alive. It made the whole thing seem like less of a fever dream.

“Clay…?” George stirred from his slumber. “Where are you going?”

His heart fluttered upon hearing George say his name for the umpteenth time. He’d long reconciled his past and his present.

Dream. Masked killer, cold, calculating.

Clay. Beloved friend, warm, vulnerable.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss onto George’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” George murmured back sleepily, burying his face back in the pillows. Clay chuckled at the action. “Stay safe.”

The way to the little memorial is one that Clay had walked so many times, that it had begun to become routine, a familiar, comforting thing in his life. Sometimes, George would join him, but oftentimes, he walked alone. The wind whipped through his hair, biting at his nose, and tickling his cheeks; the need for anonymity with his mask had been gone for quite some time now.

He sat by the stone markers, nestled among tulips and azure bluets. George had thought them to be good additions to their graves. Clay had indulged him, as always.

“Hello,” he began. “It’s already been a year since the whole thing, huh?” The breeze rustled through the leaves as though replying to him. He laughed softly. “It still hurts, you know, but I guess I’ve learned to live with it.”

Clay is quiet, contemplative. Nick’s bandanna was wrapped around his gravestone, and Darryl’s had his checkered scarf folded neatly on top of his. He’d considered leaving behind his cloak too, but he’d been too distraught to part with it.

“I wish you two met George properly. You know. When we weren’t running for our lives. You would’ve liked him, I bet.”

There are faint footsteps behind him, followed by a gentle hand on his head.

“Speaking of,” he chuckled, whirling around to see George’s soft smile. He sat down beside him, resting his head on Clay’s shoulder.

“I thought you were still asleep,” Clay whispered, wrapping an arm around him.

“I missed you,” George mumbled. “It’s too cold without you.”

“I’ll be back in a second.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Clay took one of his hands and placed a light kiss on the back of it. “If you insist.”

He spent a few more minutes by the memorial until he said his farewells and walked back to the house with George, hands interlaced with his.

“Do you think they’d be proud of me?” Clay asked.

George brought his hand up to his lips, kissing it in return. “Of course,” he whispered. “You’ve pulled through, despite everything. I’m so proud of you, Clay. I’m sure they would be too.”

Clay turned to cup his cheeks in his hands, eyes misty with tears. “I don’t know where I would be without you, George,” he confessed. “Everything I am now, I owe it all to you.”

“You’ve done the changes yourself,” George murmured back, circling his arms around Clay’s neck. “I shouldn’t get all the credit.”

Clay closed the distance between them, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss onto George’s lips before pulling away. “I love you so much, George,” he whispered reverently.

“I love you too, Clay,” George replied before pulling him down for another, something stronger that left them both breathless in the end, pressing their foreheads together once they’ve finished.

Slowly but surely, Clay couldn’t help but feel like everything was going to be alright.

* * *

**ENDING: BITTERSWEET**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“Get him!” Clay yelled. “But don’t kill him yet!”

George nodded and quickly shot an arrow into Sapnap’s shoulder, causing him to drop the axe in pain. George quickly kicked it out of the way before pulling the wooden handle against his throat, choking him slightly.

“Stop struggling,” George yelled, “or this will be more painful for you!” He watched as Sapnap’s eyes turned to the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and he stilled for a moment.

“We’ll still return even if you kill us, you know,” Bad hissed. “You of all people should know that, _Dream._ ” Sapnap shouted his agreement even as George desperately tried to keep him in place.

“Listen to me!” Dream yelled over the commotion. “What good does it do to keep that Dragon alive?! It’s poisoned the rivers, created so much chaos, and ruined so many lives!” George bowed his head. “It will never stop sowing discord while it lives.”

“The only thing that’s been poisoned is your mind,” Sapnap spat, struggling against George’s grip. “Have you forgotten what we are, you _traitor?_ ”

A long time ago, that word would’ve stung him, but Dream only regarded him with the cold impassivity of his mask. “You say my mind is poisoned,” he said calmly, “but I could only speculate about yours.”

“Without it, we’ll die,” Bad spoke quietly, a little unnerved. “I’ve read the books. The Dragon’s Breath keeping us alive will die out and take us down with it.”

“No,” George countered. “It just stops making you… reset.” He stared at Dream from across the corridor. “You’ll live, but you won’t be immortal anymore.”

“You can’t be too sure,” Sapnap glowered at him. “It’s a big risk. I’m not dying for something so stupid.”

“We’ve _**already**_ died!” Clay shouted with a bone-chilling roar. “Over and over and _over_ again! Aren’t you tired?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “We used to live normal lives before… don’t you remember?”

“You’re lying,” Bad said, but the fight in his voice was gone.

“I can prove it,” Clay said, his voice shaking. “Only if you promise not to fight back.”

“We’ll never stop—!” Sapnap started, but Bad held up a hand to stop him.

“I want to see how.”

 _Maybe,_ Clay thought desperately, fishing through his pockets for Vincent’s photograph, _maybe Darryl’s still in there, somewhere._

He hands Bad the crumpled thing, watching his face as it flickered from curiosity to familiarity to horror before they were rapidly changing, too quick for Clay to pick apart. Sapnap had quieted down in George’s arms, straining to look over at the two.

“Why…” Bad’s voice trembled uneasily. “Who are these people…? Why are they so familiar…?”

“Darryl, _please,_ ” Clay begged, gripping his arms. “Darryl, you have to remember. We’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?” He lifted his mask over his head, watching as a glint of recognition flashed in Bad’s eyes. “Please, I need you to remember.”

“C-Clay…!” a choked sob ripped out of Darryl’s throat. “What happened to us…?”

“What did you do to him?!” Sapnap shouted. “What have you done with Bad?!”

“Nick, _please!_ ” Darryl sniffled, shivering as though he’d suddenly been thrust into the cold. “What have _we_ done?”

Sapnap suddenly blanched, his chest heaving, his breath coming out in short puffs. “W-What?”

Darryl suddenly clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “It hurts. I don’t think I’m okay in the head right now.” Clay immediately fretted over him, but he waved him off. “This is so _weird._ It feels like… I’ve solved a mystery. But I don’t have all the pieces.”

“Trust me, I know,” Clay said gently. He carefully removed the photo from Darryl’s grip and tossed it over to Sapnap.

"I refuse to look at it," he said, turning away.

"It's only a photograph," George pointed out.

"…I know."

But he looks anyway, and his expression immediately crumples, as though the weight of his crimes finally bore down on him.

"Take it away!" Nick cried. "I don't want to see it anymore."

"How long have we been gone…?" Darryl murmured. "How long have they been waiting for us?"

"Vincent is still in the village," Clay said, holding him consolingly. "Zak is… He's gone too."

"Oh," was all Darryl said before he erupted into tears, clinging on to Dream for support. "I miss them, Clay. I want to see them again."

"I know, I know," Clay replied softly. "We will see them afterwards, won't we?"

"I feel nauseous," Nick mumbled, sagging against George. "I don't know if it's the blood loss or the memories."

"Do you want to reset?" George asked sympathetically, pocketing the photograph.

Nick shook his head. "I'm afraid to wake up alone again."

"You'll never be alone," George said. "Not when you've got us."

"I… I'll take you there," Nick said, looking to Darryl for silent permission. Darryl gives him a wordless nod, getting shakily to his feet.

Nick led them to the end of the corridor, past the little library, and into an empty cell where two hammocks remained suspended along the walls. Clay and Darryl took a seat at one, the latter's sobs quieting down into soft sniffles.

"Make it quick," Nick said. "Please."

George nodded wordlessly and shot an arrow straight into his heart, knocking the wind out of him for a second before his body disappeared from view. Suddenly, there he was on the other hammock, looking as though he had just awoken from a long, refreshing nap. The arrows stuck in his body were gone, the blood cleaned, the armor impeccable. It was as though he'd never died in the first place.

"I've never seen anyone respawn before," George said.

Nick gave Clay an appraising look as he sat up. "Funny," he mused. "I'd have thought that Clay's recklessness would've killed him at least once."

Clay's smile wobbled on his face. "Good to see you again, Nick."

"I think I remember how I died." Darryl's faint voice echoed in the empty chamber. "The fires…" he laughed hollowly, rubbing his arms subconsciously. "I never could stand them. I didn't understand why, until now, I think." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think someone set my house on fire."

Clay's heart ached. "I'm so sorry, Darryl."

"It wasn't your fault." Darryl smiled at him kindly, his brows still knitted together. "It's just… surreal. Remembering all these."

"I think I know how _I_ died," Nick murmured, looking at Dream. "You were with me, weren't you, Clay?"

"Yes," Clay whispered back, his heart sinking in his chest.

"We were being hunted down too." Nick's face scrunched in concentration. "They got me before they got you, I think. Teamed up on me with their weapons."

"Then I ran away like a coward and fell in a ravine."

"You were _not_ a coward." Nick frowned. "You were only doing what you could to save yourself."

"I wish I could've saved you instead."

"Dream," George spoke up quietly.

“We’re all together now,” Darryl said firmly, hastily wiping away his tears. “At least, most of us are… We should think about that instead, right?”

“I tried so hard not to accept that these were mine,” Nick said, holding up the notes scattered on the floor. “It’s not easy to accept something like this… Lost memories, sudden purpose…? How did you do it, Clay?”

Clay looked back at George, who was smiling fondly at him. He smiled back. “Trust me, you’re already doing so much better than I did.”

“But if we come with you,” Darryl began, “they’ll just send in another group to come hunt us.”

“That’s why we have to finish this now.” A determined glint flashed in George’s eyes. “We’ll kill the Ender Dragon once and for all.”

“Are you ready to take on that task?” Clay asked, turning to Nick and Darryl. “You will be going against everything you’ve ever believed in.”

“I don’t believe in senseless violence,” Nick murmured. “Whatever happened to me after I died, changed everything about me.” He lifted his head up, more sure of himself. “If killing the Dragon is what it will take for us to get our lives back, then so be it.”

“I’ll be with you guys every step of the way,” Darryl agreed, a brave grin on his face.

“Then let’s get ourselves a Dragon,” George finished with a grin.

 **> Continue.**

The group found themselves in a small chamber made of endstone; porous, pale yellow walls surrounding them from every corner. Their feet land on a floating obsidian platform, their ears picking up the Dragon’s growls, and the Endermen’s teleporting whooshes.

“I feel sick,” George mumbled, his face pale.

“It’s just your nerves,” Clay assured him, squeezing his hand comfortingly. He’d put his mask back on. “There’s four of us here. I won’t let anything harm you, okay?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Nick said, carving a path through the walls with George’s pickaxe.

The first thing they notice are the tall, towering spires of obsidian, the dark stone almost camouflaging itself against the inky blackness of the Void. The Dragon flaps overhead as though it didn't have a care in the world, yet Clay knew how agitated it was.

“Take down those crystals at the top,” Darryl instructed, pointing at the pillars with his crossbow. “The Dragon uses those to heal.”

“Got it,” George breathed, aiming his bow towards one that glowed far brighter than the rest.

It exploded in a shower of glass and smoke, and the Dragon hissed in agony. The Endermen scrambled about, and Clay distantly remembered the bit in his journal regarding the Dragon’s guardians. Were they distressed because it got hurt?

“Nick! Stop staring at the Endermen!” came Darryl’s panicked voice.

“I can’t help it! They’re in the way!” Nick shouted back. “It’s coming down! Clay, help me!”

“I’ve got you!” Clay answered, drawing his diamond sword as he rushed to the bedrock fountain in the middle of the endstone island. The Dragon tried to swerve around their blades to no avail, the sharp edges easily cutting through its scales. It flew away with a deafening roar, but not before spraying a dense cloud of poisonous gas over the area. Clay and Nick stood their ground, unaffected, for what are they inside but Dragon’s Breath as well?

 ** _“You fools!”_** cried a thundering, archaic voice inside their heads. **_“I give you eternal life, and this is how you repay me?”_**

“What’s going on?” George called out, noticing that the three had suddenly covered their ears. “Guys!”

 ** _“All I ask for is protection, and what do you give me but poison?”_** It circled the area, using the glowing End Crystals to heal its shallow wounds and broken scales.

“Don’t listen to it!” Nick yelled out over the noise. “We will never surrender to you!”

George continued taking down crystal after crystal, growing confused, for he couldn’t hear anything but the Dragon’s agonized roars. It suddenly rounded upon him, opening its mouth to let out a terrible ball of purple flame. 

“George!” Clay screamed, pushing George to the ground just in time to see the explosion hit just where he’d been, bits and pieces of endstone flying in the air, searing fire spreading on the ground. “Are you okay?!”

“I-I-I’m fine!” George sputtered out, cheeks red. “F-Focus! We need to focus!”

Clay could hear the Dragon’s taunting laugh in his head, mocking him.

 ** _“You’re pathetic, Dream. My Endermen did not fish your clumsy remains out of that ravine just so you can flirt with some puny mortal.”_**

His cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, but he didn’t let it deter him from his duty. _One, two, four crystals down, which means there’s six left, so—_

“Darryl!” he shouted. “The caged crystals! Go! Go! Go!”

“I’ve got them!” Darryl yelled back, getting to his feet and running towards the shortest spires, crossbow in hand.

 ** _“NO!”_**

A spiked tail flung Darryl into the air, ten, fifty, a hundred feet above the ground, screaming in terror, sending him crashing with a sickening _crunch._ His limp body skidded across the stony floor like a ragdoll, covered in abrasions. The three cried out for Darryl as he disappeared, sending him back to the stronghold.

“You’ve messed with the wrong group,” Nick growled, rage boiling inside him, axe raised high as he dashed towards the end fountain. “We’ll keep returning over and over again until you die, you hear me?!”

 ** _“Foolish child,”_** says the Dragon, aiming a fireball at him. Nick dashed out of the way, the searing purple flames barely grazing his skin. The Dragon smiled in self-satisfaction, circling the area again to heal before another explosion had it caught in the crossfire. Its glowing eyes narrowed at George, who was sporting a smug smirk, immediately going after the next crystal.

 ** _“This is the only one who can die,”_** it said, and Clay’s blood immediately ran cold in his veins.

“Not on my watch,” he growled. “I won’t let you take him from me.”

 ** _“As if you have a choice in the matter!”_** the Dragon laughed uproariously, swishing its tail threateningly atop its bedrock perch. Clay watched it carefully, determined to step out of its way, when the Dragon suddenly shot forward, preparing to attack.

George whirled around to see a ball of gray and purple hurtling towards him, hitting the ground and spewing a noxious gas that immediately left him lightheaded. A flash of green caught his eye and suddenly Dream was beside him, pearling them away to safety, clutching him close in his arms.

“George! George, are you okay?” Clay asked, immediately handing him a cut of steak. “Eat. You need to heal.”

George accepted the food wordlessly, his mind still reeling from the experience. He didn’t expect to see the Dragon coming out of nowhere, ramming its head into Dream’s side and hurling him off the ledge.

Clay gasped sharply, reflexes kicking in as he grabbed an Ender Pearl from his pack, the last one in his possession. He teleported safely back on the island, struggling to catch his breath. His ribs smarted from what happened, bruises blooming across his skin, until his lungs collapsed and he found himself back in the stronghold.

Meanwhile, Nick was desperately trying his best to fend himself against the Endermen, whose staticky screams were starting to hurt his ears. An arrow saved him from an annoying death, a pearl dropping at his feet, looking up to see George coming to his rescue.

“Where’s Clay?” Nick asked.

“He died, I think,” George shuddered. “I haven’t seen him die before.”

“Well with our luck, you won’t ever have to see him die anymore,” Nick replied with a grin. “Quick, gimme your bow! I bet I can get the caged ones from here.”

“Let’s trade,” George agreed, enjoying the familiar feeling of holding an axe again.

“Cover me! Cover me!” Nick aimed at one of the caged End Crystals. “Watch and learn, Georgie,” he said smugly as he confidently shot his mark, whooping as it exploded in a rain of glass and light.

George whacked away at their pursuers, picking up fallen pearls and storing them in his rucksack.

“George!” a breathless voice called after him, and he turned to see Dream running towards him, sword in hand. “Need some help?”

“I like to think that I’ve got it handled,” George said with a smirk, disposing of another Enderman.

Nick pointed at the Dragon, who was now perched on the end fountain, glowering at them. It turned to its loyal Endermen, beckoning them forward. **_“Now, are you my guardians, or mere spectators? Stop them!”_**

And so they cowered before it, and followed its command. As they’ve always done before.

Suddenly, it was much harder to protect oneself against a horde of teleporting monstrosities. Nick and George swapped back their weapons, the three of them fighting back-to-back against the aggressive mob, each one not daring to let the other two be singled out. 

“Where’s Darryl?” Nick asked out over the din of static. “He should’ve been back by now!”

“I didn’t see him on the way here,” Clay replied as he cut through the black mass. “I refuse to believe he would’ve abandoned us.”

The Dragon laughed at their plight, swooping in on them to separate them further.

Nick skidded back on his heels, the friction burning his soles. He ignored it, hacking away at the cacophonous mob, teeth gnashing, arms flailing. He glanced over at Clay and George, who weren’t faring much better than he was. _Well, at least they’ve got each other._

“Get away from me!” Nick screamed as their claws ripped through his armor, tearing away at him. Clay watched in horror, yelling for him as his cries faded away in the commotion, and so did his body.

“Dream!” George yelled out, narrowly avoiding the clamping jaws of one aggressive Enderman. “There’s too many of them!”

“Grab my hand!” Clay shouted, reaching out a hand towards him. George flung himself into his arms, clutching tightly to him. “Quick, give me one of your Ender Pearls.” George obliged, handing him the green orb. Clay carefully aimed it towards one of the pillars.

“Think you can get the crystals from here?” Clay whispered as he drenched themselves in water— _”water works,” Nick’s notes had declared cheerfully_ —carefully watching the Endermen scatter about, suddenly confused.

George nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He forced himself to keep a steady grip on the bow. “There should be five left, right? So, one, two—hey, why are there only two left?”

“One of them must’ve returned by now,” Clay’s eyes widened. “It must be—oh!”

Slinking away through the dark landscape, hiding in the shadows of the obsidian spires, was Darryl, his clothes helping him hide from the scrutinizing eye of the Dragon. He shot down one of the crystals just as George had taken down the other, leaving the Dragon vulnerable. 

_Perfect._

 ** _“Who?! Where?!”_** the Ender Dragon shouted in delirium, roaring and hissing fire, sending a fireball towards a cluster of Endermen. **_“Show yourselves, you pitiful cowards! The shadows cannot hide you for long!”_**

“I’m here!” came a heated cry. In bursts Nick from below the ground, armor and all, axe readily in his hand. He ran after the Dragon before it could flee from him, cutting off part of its tail, purple blood splattering all over his blade. It cried bloody murder, hissing and spitting at him.

“What has this dragon done for you?” he cried, addressing the angry Endermen. “It harms you to do its bidding, and traps you in this cold, empty dimension! What does it do for you in return?”

Their incensed cries grew confused, unsure of whom to direct their anger towards. Beady, glowing purple eyes locked upon the flying beast, who was desperately searching for a way to heal. Clay and George had already pearled to Nick’s side, as Darryl emerged from the shadows to rejoin his friends. Eventually, it seemed that the Endermen had already made up their minds, some even attempting to teleport to the pillars to reach the Dragon.

 ** _“I made you, and I can destroy you,”_** the Dragon growled at all of them.

“It is _you_ who will be destroyed,” Darryl hissed, firing an arrow directly at its neck, passing through its tough scales.

It tried to knock them backwards, but the Endermen got in its way. Darryl continued loading his crossbow, hitting his mark every time. George supported him with his bow, while Clay and Nick looked for an opportunity to strike it down with their gleaming blades.

The Ender Dragon finally settled down on its perch, huffing out a cloud of Dragon’s Breath around the base. **_“Stay back!”_** it warned, much more fearful than before. **_“We have reached an eternal stalemate. I’ll keep you trapped with me for eternity if I have to!”_**

“What stalemate?” Nick chuckled, rushing through the Breath, axe splitting the side of its wings, rendering it unable to fly properly. “It’s four versus one; three of whom are immune to your tricks.”

“We will not cower before you anymore,” Clay added, thrusting his sword towards its belly and ripping through it backwards, sending a rain of purple onto his cloak. “We will turn you into nothing, and your reign of terror will be over.”

“We will free the End,” George finished, shooting it between the eyes, sending it screaming, thrashing about onto the floor with a cry of despair.

Time suddenly crawled to a slow pace as Clay noted, with quickly growing horror, that the Dragon was barreling towards him. It knocked him backwards in the air as it tried to float miserably, disintegrating one scale at a time, a brilliant light flashing from its innards.

His hand moved to his cloak for a Pearl before realizing he’d just used his last one.

He distantly heard George screaming his name.

The Ender Dragon is dead.

And so will he be, as he notices himself missing the edge of the endstone island.

George’s horrified face peered above the edge, a green object in his hands.

An Ender Pearl.

 _If he misses his shot, he will end up blaming himself for Clay’s death. The probability of him succeeding will only get smaller as time goes on._

 **> Don't risk it.**  
**> Risk it.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

George watched as Dream tearfully shook his head _no,_ mouthing something to him that he couldn’t understand.

“Dream!” he cried, “Hold on, I’ll get you!”

George threw the Ender Pearl with all his might, hoping it would reach Dream before he was lost to the Void forever. He waited for a few seconds, and then a few minutes, until it seemed like he was waiting for an eternity. He could hear Nick and Darryl’s exhausted pants in the background, but all he wanted was to see Dream breathing again.

See him _alive_ again.

George flinched as a warm hand settled onto his shoulder. He didn't dare turn around.

"I'm sorry," Darryl said quietly. "Nobody survives in the Void."

“No.” George shook his head desperately. “The pearl will reach him. Just—Just wait.”

He couldn’t even see Dream’s body in the inky Void below anymore, nor the shimmering pearl he had just thrown down. He heard Nick’s heavy sigh behind him. He felt Darryl slowly pulling him away from the ledge. His eyes stung with unshed tears.

Despite everything, he felt rooted to the spot.

Despite everything, Dream was—

 _Dream—_

Nick tried to stand up on his wobbling legs. “George, let’s get away from here, okay? We need to go.”

George shook his head. “No, no, what if Dream comes back? He’ll be all alone in the End. I _have_ to stay here.”

“ _Nobody_ survives in the Void.” Darryl was crying now, cheeks damp. “It’s too late. He’s _gone._ ”

“What’s the matter with you?!” George blurted out, whirling onto him. Darryl crawled backwards, eyes wide. “Dream isn’t _dead!_ He’s just… The pearl must be taking too long to reach the ledge. Y-Yes. That’s it. He’ll be here any moment now.”

“George!” Nick yelled. “Why can’t you just accept it?! He’s _**gone.**_ Clay— _Dream_ —is gone. He’s gone, George. He’s not coming back.”

“How can _you_ accept it so easily?!” George shouted angrily, tears freely falling down his cheeks. “He’s your _friend,_ isn’t he? Don’t you want to see him _alive?!_ ”

“I don’t want to be delusional like _you!_ ”

“ **STOP!** ” Darryl’s watery voice cut through their yelling. “Just _stop_ it. _Please._ ”

“Darryl—” Nick began, but Darryl cut him off quickly.

“Clay wouldn’t have wanted to see you fighting like this,” he said, tightening his hold on George’s shoulders. “So please. Just stop it.”

They fell silent for a few moments until George’s rage gave way to the overpowering sense of grief and guilt.

“Why him?” George’s voice cracked. “I was there too, wasn’t I? Why _him?_ ”

“George, George no,” Nick tried to console him, suddenly looking remorseful.

George’s hands flew up to his face as he let out a guttural scream, his body wracked with trembling sobs as endless tears streamed down his face. Suddenly, he could say nothing but Dream’s name over and over again, spilling from his lips like a broken record, his throat raw from all the screaming.

Darryl quickly wrapped him in a tight embrace, shushing him gently as he rocked him from side to side.

“George, George, it wasn’t your fault,” he said shakily, his tears staining George’s shoulder, but neither party could care less. “The Dragon pushed him off. It’s not your fault.”

“I—” George whimpered, “I should’ve just thrown it—I-I killed him. _I killed him._ I was too late. I could’ve saved him.”

“You tried, George, you’ve tried so hard,” Nick said, kneeling down next to him, his eyes red and puffy. “Nobody blames you.”

“I do,” George mumbled, crestfallen. “I never… I never even got to tell him how much I love him.”

“We’re here for you, okay?” Darryl murmured. “You’re Clay’s friend, so you’re ours now too.”

“Let’s live a little longer for him, yeah?” Nick said, placing his hands over George’s arms. “We can’t stay here for long.”

“But Dream—”

“He’ll get to us, okay?” Darryl said softly. “We have to leave, like Nick says. Clay can find us if he needs to.”

“Okay.”

George let himself be led over to the end fountain, staring at the swirling, starry blackness within.

Dark, like the Void.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes again—so he shut them tight and jumped in, Nick and Darryl right beside him.

* * *

George sat at the desk, tapping his chin with his pen. He watched the compass Dream gave him on the desk, the needle spinning uselessly. A pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his neck, and a chin rested on the top of his head.

“Hey Clay,” George said, smiling softly.

 _What are you doing, Georgie?_ Clay looked curiously over the pages George was writing on.

“I’m writing our story. You know, in case I forget… forget what happened.”

Clay nodded wistfully, nuzzling his nose into George’s hair. _Okay,_ he said, _but there are some things you should let go of. You know that, right?_

George swallowed thickly, nodding. “I know.”

It was more than that though. Nick had suggested it first as a way to process his grief. George poured out his heart to it in the dead of the night, saying what he failed to say, whispered confessions penned violently in black ink. Soon enough, he ended up recounting his adventures, starting with his small village, then meeting Dream, and finally, his life with Nick and Darryl in a little hut of birch and oak.

 _Where are they, by the way?_ Clay asked.

“They went to get some food, I think. The village isn’t very far from our house after all.”

 _Why didn’t you go with them?_

“I didn’t want to, I guess.” His writing faltered, lingering on a comma. He just can’t— _couldn’t_ —bring himself to write the next part. Clay placed a hand over his own, looking at him with concerned eyes. “I-I just felt like I have to finish this by now.”

 _And you’re doing so well._ Clay’s voice was warm in his ears, its timbre soothing his nerves. _I’m so proud of you. Take care of yourself, okay? I love you, George._

“I love you too, Clay.”

The door suddenly opens, and George almost jolts in his seat. Clay’s arms disappear from around his neck.

“We’re back!” Nick announced, carrying a large white box in his hands. 

“Sorry we took so long,” Darryl laughed behind him, slinging a sack of food over his shoulder. “Nick insisted that we stop by the bakery first.”

“Hey, _you_ of all people should know what day it is.” Nick pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ I’m terrible with dates!”

“Guys,” George chuckled. “What’s in the box?”

“Oh!” Nick ran excitedly to him, lifting the cover. It was a glazed vanilla cake, with candied tulip petals scattered over the top. “Think he’d like this?”

“He would,” George said with a faint smile. He glanced over at the journal before sighing and closing it. “Nick, Dar, I think I’m finally ready to join you guys this time.”

“Really?” Darryl’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you sure?”

George took a deep breath. “I am.”

“It’s almost sundown,” Nick announced. “Let’s go!”

The path is unfamiliar, as George could never bring himself to walk upon it; until today, that is. At the very end stood a stone marker, nestled among the roses and lilies, worn from the times but still very much loved. Darryl lit a small candle before placing it atop the gravestone.

“Hi Clay,” he said softly. “George’s here to see you.”

Seeing the empty grave made George wonder whether Clay was still falling in the Void. He sat down on the grass, placing a hand on the marker.

“Hey,” George began. “I-I-I feel like I owe you at least one visit, um—” He could barely get the next words out before his throat felt like closing up again, tears brimming in his eyes. “It’s been a year after all, you know?”

He felt Nick’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m doing much better, thanks to Nick and Darryl.” George shot them a grateful grin, which they returned. “I… I can see why you’re friends. They’re very good people.”

“Aww, we think you’re great too, George,” Darryl said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, pulling George in for a one-armed hug. “We love you too, man.”

Their grins were infectious, and George found himself smiling with them. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think I can finally let this all go.” He rubs his thumb over the stone. “I will always love you, Clay. I’ll never regret meeting you, despite our… unusual circumstances.”

“To Clay,” Darryl spoke, “our beloved friend. May he always live on in our hearts and our minds and our dreams.”

“To Clay,” the others replied in unison.

Nick brought out three spoons and opened the cake box. The three of them shared their little feast, laughter in the air as they traded stories about Clay, cherished memories and silly anecdotes alike. George watched as the sun started to set beyond the horizon, bathing the scene in its soft glow.

Despite the cold emptiness by his side where Clay should be, George couldn’t help but feel the warm rays of hope for the days to come.

* * *

**ENDING: CANDIED TULIPS**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

Clay desperately reached an arm out towards George. He _couldn’t_ die again, damn it—despite the small odds he had of living.

He wanted to catch up with Nick and Darryl again, while they weren’t running for their lives.

He wanted to reunite with Vincent and see happy tears rolling down his cheeks.

He wanted to wake up next to George every morning, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He wanted to _live._

A flash of green caught his eye, standing out starkly against the pale yellow endstone. He reached up towards it, grasping it in his hand before it could fall past him, and immediately threw it up the nearest ledge.

Purple light encompasses his body, and he takes a deep, heaving breath as his knees scrape against the rocky floor, a terrified, relieved giggle bubbling up his throat. Clay crawls far away from the edge, and he finally collapses, weary and euphoric all at once.

“C-Clay!” Darryl cried, pointing at him as he, too, dropped to the ground, exhausted.

Nick and George immediately turned their heads, the former slumping down as well, and the latter immediately running towards him. 

“Dream!” George yelled, nearly stumbling to his knees over the rocky endstone as he practically flew towards him. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Clay laughed, wrapping George in a big, tight hug. “Just tired. You did it, George! You killed the Dragon!” George’s arms circled around his neck, pulling him even closer to him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you”—George suddenly turned red as he hid his face into Clay’s chest, hearing Darryl and Nick’s weary chuckles behind him. “Without _all_ of you,” he says, a little more loudly.

“Yeah, we’re fine too!” Nick called out teasingly, prompting another round of snickering from Darryl.

“Let’s get to the portal,” Clay whispered softly, stroking his back. “This nightmare is finally over.”

George reluctantly pulled himself away from Clay’s embrace as the four of them headed back to the end fountain, where an inky swirl of stars and blackness awaited them. Clay clasped his hand warmly before they jumped in. 

Their hands remained interlocked when they’d reappeared back in the stronghold, back in the little nook above the library, in the dusty bed where he and George had spent the previous night. 

Clay almost jumped when George immediately clung onto him, burying his face into his shirt. Clay tentatively wrapped his arms around his back.

“I thought I’d lost you,” George mumbled, trembling in his embrace, “when the Dragon hit you”—he hiccupped, clutching onto the fabric of Clay’s cloak—“I-I didn’t think I’d—”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, George.” Clay rested his masked face on top of George’s head. “I’m safe. You saved me. We did it. _You_ did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Clay—I mean, _Dream,_ I—”

Clay’s heart stopped for a second, a goofy, flustered grin spreading across his lips. “Call me Clay,” he interrupted George, rubbing circles onto his back with his thumb.

“Clay, then,” George murmured. “I’m so glad you survived. I-I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t.”

“I’m here, George. I’ve got you.”

He held George protectively for a few more moments, listening to his shuddering, breathless giggles as he continued to whisper sincere compliments in his ear. Clay heard the slight creaking of the ladder on the other side of the room, unsurprised to see Nick and Darryl peeking up at them.

“C’mere you two,” Clay said, holding out an arm towards them.

George made an embarrassed squeak as he was suddenly squished in between three people. “Let me out,” he whined.

“Nope, no good,” Nick declared. “You’re going to be stuck here forever.”

“Okay, okay,” Clay chuckled, “Let him go.”

“Aww,” Darryl pouted as they all pulled apart from each other, “the group hug didn’t last very long now, did it?”

“It’s fine, we can have another group hug at Vincent’s place.” Clay stood up and made his way downstairs, leading the group out of the stronghold.

“Oh!” Darryl’s eyes lit up in joy. “I almost forgot about Xem!”

“How can you forget about Vincent?!” Nick said in mock hurt. “The three of you used to be so close! Like you and him and… and…”

“And Zak,” George supplied.

“Yeah, and Zak,” Darryl said quietly, “but we don’t even know where he is. Clay said he left the village too, right?”

Clay shot him a sad smile. “Yes. George and I haven’t come across him yet either.”

“Oh.” Darryl’s expression fell. “I see.”

“If it’s any consolation,” George offered, “I think there’s still a chance we could see him again.”

“Thanks George.” Darryl gave him a small smile. “But I know that chance is slim to none.”

“The chances of us three meeting each other again were _also_ slim to none,” Clay interjected. “It’s not impossible, Dar. Chin up! We could see Zak again. We’re already going to see Vincent again, right?”

Darryl’s smile grew wider. “Yeah…”

“Can’t hear you,” Clay teased.

“Yeah!” Darryl repeated, a little louder this time.

“Wow, don’t think I heard anything,” Nick sang.

“Oh my goodness,” Darryl groaned. “Now you muffinheads are just being mean to me.”

“Oh nooo!” Nick cried, “We’re sorry, Darryl. We’re very very sorry.”

“Very very _very_ sorry,” Clay added.

George laughed at their antics as they continued along the corridors, up the tunnel, and back above ground.

* * *

The way back proved to be a little more stressful, as the little rickety boat could only fit two people inside. Nick offered to swim through the ocean waters himself before being reminded that _“you could die for real now, Nick, what if a Drowned gets you again like last time?”._

“Moral of the story, make a million boats,” Darryl had sighed. “Good thing we’re in a birch forest then, huh?”

They'd crossed the ocean with little to no further incident (other than that one gurgler— _Drowned, Nick, honestly_ —with the trident) and were able to safely set foot on the shore by early afternoon.

"Hold on," George began, "we probably shouldn't make such a fuss in the village."

"What do you mean?" Clay asked.

“Think about it,” George reasoned. “You’ve all been gone for several years, and now you’re back as if nothing ever happened. None of you have aged a day, too.”

“Oh, I haven’t thought about that,” Nick said.

“But we’ve been to the village before,” Clay countered.

“But _you’re_ wearing a mask.” George poked the cool surface with his finger. “They aren’t. Besides, I think we should give Vincent a little warning—you’ve seen how he reacted when it was just you who returned.”

“Oh, what, like _‘hey Vincent remember your dead friends? Turns out they were alive this whole time, and oh look they’re here too!’_ ” Nick rolled his eyes. “There’s really no easy way to break this to him. We’re going to break him.”

“Maybe seeing him again isn’t a good idea after all.” Darryl frowned. “Not if we’re going to freak him out like this.”

“What?” George protested. “But he’ll be so happy to see you again!”

“I know,” Darryl murmured, “but what if he’s angry with us for leaving him behind?”

“Hey.” Clay put a hand on his shoulder. “When George and I first met him, he was angry, yeah, but he was mostly relieved. He missed us, you know? So don’t worry about it.” He squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “I think he’ll be especially glad to see _you_ again.”

“I still feel terrible,” Darryl groaned. “Maybe we could still go back.”

“No, don’t,” Nick whined, dragging out the “o”. “We have to be there by sunset or mobs are going to kill us and it will _suck._ ”

“It will double suck because we can die _permanently_ this time,” Clay said, wheezing. “C’mon Dar, it’ll be fine.”

George hit Clay on the shoulder, and Nick too, for good measure. “Neither of you are going to die. It’s the middle of the day.”

“Fine,” Darryl relented, throwing his hands in the air. “But don’t be surprised when he kicks us all out the very moment he sees us.”

“He won’t do that, I promise,” Clay said sincerely as they walked the path back to the village. “Vincent isn’t that kind of person.”

“It feels like we’ve stepped back in time,” Nick murmured, staring out over the sea of houses. “Or stepped out of it, and everyone’s moved on.”

“Not everyone,” Clay sighed, much more sober than before.

“I agree with what George said earlier,” Darryl said nervously. “You two should give Vincent a proper warning first before we burst in, at least.”

“What would we even say?” George sighed.

“I was thinking,” Clay began, “that maybe he should leave this village too, and come with us.”

“Since when have you thought about this?” George asked, startled.

Clay shrugged in response. “Just now, I guess. Look, it’s not doing Vincent any good to stay cooped up in here. Everyone’s treated him as an outcast.” Nick’s and Darryl’s eyes widened at the revelation. “We can make a little village of our own and live there. We don’t even have to share one house.”

“Poor Vincent,” Darryl murmured.

“Where will we even go?” Nick asked.

“The abandoned village by the lava pool,” George recalled, his eyes lighting up. “If we can restore it, it would be the perfect spot, I think.”

“You’re a genius!” Clay exclaimed with a bright grin. George turned red. “It’s not very far from here, so Vincent doesn’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Will he even want to go with us?” Darryl asked hesitantly.

“He misses you all more than anything in the world,” George replied. “So I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

They approached the forest where Clay and George had practiced their archery, making sure to keep their faces hidden from view. Nick noticed the gravestones. Darryl read them quietly. Clay thought that the mood felt very somber for a reunion, but what’s to be expected when the person you’re meeting expects you to be long dead?

“My garden,” Darryl whispered, seeing the fenced-off patch of greens—or _browns,_ by the look of them—and hurrying over to it. “I’ve forgotten about this.”

“My pets,” Nick lamented. “I wish I could’ve said goodbye.”

“I don’t think he’s home,” George said, peeking in through the dusty windows. “Think you two can keep yourself hidden until he comes back?”

But it turned out that there was no need for that, as a sudden _thud_ sounded out behind them.

They turned around, eyes wide, as Vincent screamed, clutching his chest. Darryl was quick to catch him as he stumbled backwards, quickly turning as white as a sheet. 

“Y-Y-You…” Vincent stammered, lifting a shaking hand up at him.

“I’ve got you, Vincent,” Darryl said soothingly, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. “I’ve got you. Are you alright?”

“Put me down,” Vincent cried, his accent getting thicker with each word, “I’ve finally lost my mind.” Darryl carefully set him on the ground, right next to the sack he had dropped earlier.

“You look so _old,_ ” Nick blurted out, mouth agape. Vincent flinched.

“We’ve left you behind in every aspect imaginable,” Darryl murmured, looking worse than before. “We’re so sorry.”

“I’m sorry you had to meet them this way,” Clay said sheepishly. “I-We didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“You—” Vincent began, glaring at Clay, before his eyes roved over to George, then to Nick, and back to Darryl. “Fuck, I’m seeing ghosts, aren’t I? You’ve all died and you’ve come to get me too, haven’t you?”

“Language,” Darryl said half-heartedly.

“You’re… You’re not seeing ghosts,” Nick said softly, kneeling down next to him. “We’re real, see?” He held out a hand, and Vincent hesitantly pressed his fingers against his palm. There was warmth where he expected coldness, and his shaky facade crumbled down, exposing the most fragile parts of himself.

“Oh Vincent, please don’t cry,” Darryl croaked, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I-We’ve missed you terribly too.” He wrapped his arms around Vincent again, burying his face in his shoulder.

“We want you to go with us,” Clay said gently. “You don’t have to suffer here anymore.”

“W-What do you mean?” Vincent asked shakily.

“We—well Clay, actually,” George started, “thought that you should come with us to live in another village. It’s quite close, so you don’t have to worry about walking too far.”

“Right now?”

“Take your time,” Clay assured him. “We aren’t going anywhere this time.”

“L-Let me say goodbye, at least.” Vincent stood up on wobbling legs, and pressed his hand to the stone wall of the little house. “Goodbye, old friend,” he whispered. “I wish I’d have taken better care of you.”

“It’s hard to let go of things,” Nick said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But sometimes we have to move on to get better.”

“I’ll go with you,” Vincent said, a little more determined. “I don’t have many things, so I can travel light.”

“We should go before sundown,” Darryl spoke. “There’s no telling what mobs lurk in the trees at night.”

“I agree,” Nick piped up.

“We head North,” Clay announced. He strode forward to take the lead before noticing George standing idly by, rubbing his neck subconsciously. “George?”

“You go on ahead,” George said, chuckling awkwardly. “I’ll be… returning to my old village.”

Clay stopped in his tracks, frowning. “Don’t you want to go with us?”

“I-I wouldn’t want to intrude,” George said quietly. “You’ve finally got your old life back, Clay.”

“And I want you to be part of it.” Clay grabbed George’s free hand, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his chest. “You’ve changed my life as much as they did; I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for you.”

A heavy shade of red dusted over George’s cheeks. “Well… if you insist…”

“I _very much_ insist,” Clay said with a grin, threading their fingers together. He led George over to the front of the group, paying no attention to Nick’s teasing and Darryl’s quiet giggles. “Lead the way, George!”

 **> Continue.**

The last rays of sunlight were barely visible behind the mountains by the time they’d reached the abandoned village, even with the aid of the stray horses they’d tamed along the way.

“Are you sure it’s abandoned?” Nick asked, squinting at the distance. “It doesn’t look that way to me.”

“What do you mean?” George replied, shifting in his place behind Clay and looking carefully over his shoulder.

There in the distance, where they expected to see nothing but dust and darkness among the ruined houses, was the burning light of a campfire emitting a pillar of smoke, hanging over the broken rooftops. Clay slowed down his horse to an even trot, cautiously approaching the scene.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a lot of people here,” he noted. There was only a single piece of porkchop sizzling over the open flame, but other than that, there was barely any evidence of someone living there.

“Should we turn back?” Darryl asked worriedly. “Night is falling.”

“I think this person was just passing through,” Clay replied. “Otherwise they’d be doing this indoors.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” a voice suddenly boomed from one of the houses. “Leave my things alone!”

George instinctively reached for his bow when Clay stopped him, peeking curiously at the newcomer. He was decked from head to toe in armor so bright, it gleamed like diamonds against the firelight. A sword similar to Clay’s hung by his hip, his hand twitching close to its hilt.

 _Familiar…?_

Darryl beat him to the punch, dismounting his horse and immediately running towards the stranger, arms open wide.

“Zak!” he cried.

The armored man suddenly stilled, taking a step back, holding his hands out in self-defense. “S-Stay back,” he spoke, a slight lisp curving his _s_ ’s.

“Zak, don’t you recognize us?” Darryl asked, a little hurt. He stepped closer to the light. Zak’s eyes immediately widened, and his hand moved away from his weapon.

“Darryl,” he said faintly, so quiet that only Darryl could hear. “They got you too, didn’t they?”

It didn’t take long before Zak fell over backwards, shaking violently on the ground, shrieks erupting from his lips. The others were quick to his side, Darryl most of all, holding him and shushing him until he’d calmed down. Zak had buried his face in his hands, fingertips pressed firmly against his forehead.

“My _brain,_ ” he cried. “Make it stooop!”

“We’ve got you, we’ve got you,” Darryl murmured, rubbing soothing circles onto his shoulder. “We’re here, Zak. We’re here.”

 _He looks young,_ Clay noted, _like the rest of the Hunters here. Did he try to go after the Dragon too?_

It looked like the others had made the connection too, judging from how Nick looked at him, alarmed, while George had his arm in a death grip. Vincent was busy fussing over Zak along with Darryl to even notice.

“You three should stay together for the night,” Clay spoke up. “I think you two would be better equipped to explain things, seeing as you’re the ones closest to him.”

“Alright, Clay.” Darryl nodded weakly. He then turned to the trembling man, helping him up and leading him to one of the houses. “Come on Zak, you need some rest. Put out the fire please, Vincent.”

“That leaves the three of us then,” George remarked, once the trio had gone off to cool things down.

“Would that be okay with you?” Clay asked.

“I’m fine with it if you are,” Nick replied, rubbing his arm. “I really hope Zak gets better soon. Getting your memories back is… messy.”

Clay made sure that the horses were secured before leading George and Nick over to one of the houses. George’s eyes lit up at the sight.

“Ah—” he gasped, “this is where we stayed before, right?” His hand moves to his pocket, and pulls out a familiar iron thing. “It’s where you gave me this, Clay.”

“My compass!” Clay exclaimed. “I haven’t seen that in ages.”

“I never had a reason to use it.” George smiled as the needle pointed towards Clay.

“You gave him your compass?” Nick asked.

Clay shrugged. “I didn’t want to kill him anymore. I had no more use for it.”

“You have it _bad,_ ” Nick sighed, entering the house and flopping onto one of the beds.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Clay huffed, knowing exactly what he meant. The tips of his ears burned red. George's chuckles came out in short puffs of air.

“It means what it means.” Nick waved him off, turning over to face the wall. “Good night. I’m exhausted.” And with that, he was out like a light, snoring soundly into the pillows.

“There’s only one bed,” George remarked.

“That’s never stopped us before,” Clay replied.

“Nick is here.”

“He’s asleep. He won’t be bothering us.”

George laughed lightly, pink dusting his cheeks. “You make it sound like we’re about to do something indecent.”

"Nothing like that." Clay rolled his eyes, reddening even further. He set his mask down on a nearby table. "Just cuddles."

"Of course," George replied, settling down on the bed and fluffing up the pillow. "I think I'm used to it by now."

"You think?" Clay quirked an eyebrow, nestling next to him. He slotted perfectly in between George's arms, wrapping his own around his waist and pulling him closer.

George hummed contentedly, snuggling into Clay's chest. "I like it here with you," he murmured. "It feels safe."

"I like keeping you safe," Clay whispered, rubbing small circles on George's back with his thumb. "I like being your protector."

George giggled before falling quiet again. Clay almost lulled himself to sleep with the feel of George's heartbeat against him, when the latter suddenly cut through the silence.

"Clay," George mumbled. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Clay repeated, a little too sleepily.

"What you said in the stronghold."

Clay pursed his lips, a little confused. "What did I say?"

"That you loved me."

Suddenly, Clay was much more awake now—his heart even more so, as George could probably hear. He stilled for a moment, not daring to breathe.

"Yes," Clay spoke, his voice no more than a hushed whisper.

George squeezed him tighter, nuzzling further into his warmth. "I'm so happy," he sighed blissfully, fighting off an incoming yawn. "Clay loves me."

Clay chuckled, a low rumble in his throat. "What about you?" he asked softly. "Does George love me too?"

"I'll tell you in the morning," George hummed, smiling. "Just hold me tonight, please?"

"I'll hold you for as long as you need me to," Clay whispered, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. "Sleep well, George."

He finds himself dreaming of the sunrise, the first rays of the morning light illuminating the room, and George's answer waiting on his lips. When he opens his eyes once more, his dreams have become reality, feeling fingers playing with his hair, and a warm body still pressed against him.

"You're awake," George murmured, his hand pausing against Clay's head.

"Good morning to you too," Clay replied fondly, his voice drowsy with sleep.

George tilted his head up to face him properly, his hand moving to cup Clay's jaw. Their close proximity let him see the freckles dusting Clay's cheeks, mapping out constellations in his skin. He watched as Clay slightly grew redder and placed a hand over his own.

"Your answer…?" Clay whispered, feeling a little too fragile for words.

"I love you, Clay," George breathed against his lips.

Clay closed the distance between them, as if he were afraid he wouldn’t get another opportunity like this again.

George's lips were as soft as he'd imagined, although a little chapped. Their eyes had fluttered shut. Clay felt George's fingers tangling through his hair again, getting a good handful before tugging him closer. Clay groaned into the kiss, running his hands up George's back.

"George," he rasped, pulling back for a moment, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," George replied giddily. 

"I've been wanting to kiss you for so long, I—"

"Then kiss me again."

Clay obliged, pressing his mouth back against George's, stronger, _bruising;_ swallowing George’s sighs as he lost himself in bliss, his senses overwhelmed with nothing but _him._ When they broke apart, their faces were ruby-red, like fresh apples and blooming roses. George laughed breathlessly as Clay thumbed over his slick lips, smiling fondly at him.

"Wow," George murmured dazedly.

"Wow indeed," Clay replied, planting a quick kiss onto his nose.

"Clay," George giggled. "Stoppp."

"I can't help it," Clay whispered, taking George's hand and kissing his palm. "I love kissing you. I love _you._ "

"I love kissing you, too," George said tenderly, and Clay's heart seized in reply. George gave him a fond smile before kissing his cheeks, then his forehead, then a quick peck on the lips.

"If we'd done this earlier I…" Clay chuckled. "I think it would've taken us longer to finish our quest."

"We would probably stay just like this for the rest of our days." George breathed out a bubbly laugh. "Lying in bed and kissing."

"Wrapped in your arms," Clay added, nestling his nose onto George's dark hair. "Never letting you go."

"What a life," George sighed happily.

"One I intend on spending with you." Clay took pride in just how much redder George got.

"If the two of you are done, Darryl requests your presence by the campfire," came an embarrassed voice by the door.

Clay shoots Nick a threatening glare, half-tempted to murder him for interrupting. But George laughs and calls out a hurried "we'll be there!" before he could. Nick shakes his head and leaves the house with a sigh.

"I was looking forward to lying in bed all day," Clay sighed, tightening his hold onto George.

"An appealing prospect," George replied, carefully pulling himself away from the embrace and pecking one last kiss onto Clay's jaw. "But we can't leave them hanging forever."

"I know," Clay sighed, reluctantly releasing George. He sat up on the bed, stretching his limbs. "Alright, let's go."

“Without your mask?” George asked softly.

“I have no need for it anymore.” Clay took George’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ve nothing left to hide, do I?”

George chuckled, squeezing his hand back affectionately. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

They walked out, fingers interlaced, ready to face the rest of the group.

 **> Continue.**

Everything turned out well, in the end, or at least, as well as things could be. The village was soon rebuilt with houses of brick, wood, and stone; structures of quartz, nether brick, and blackstone joined in not long after, with Zak and Clay’s help. Darryl and Vincent had set up a little farm to trade with neighboring villages, while Nick and George took care of livestock for food and fiber.

Clay had just finished watering the garden—a little gift he’d made for George, thanks to a flower forest he happened upon—when something rubbed against his legs. 

“Hey Patches,” he laughed, picking up the fluffy brown tabby. She mewled at him, pawing at his face. Clay shifted her over in his arms, bouncing her lightly. “Georgie’s still out, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Clay!”

He turned his head around to see George running towards him, carrying a little bundle close to his chest. He carefully set Patches down on the ground before greeting George with an embrace, pecking a soft kiss onto his forehead. “Hey Georgie,” he said warmly, “how was your day?”

“There’s so many cows out in the enclosures now,” George replied, nuzzling into Clay’s warmth. “It’s like… moo moo meadows out there.” 

“Moo moo meadows?” Clay snorted, resting his cheek onto George’s hair. George rolled his eyes and lightly hit him on the shoulder.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve found this little guy hiding by the hay bales.” He carefully tilted up the ball of fur in his arms, revealing a fuzzy, striped gray cat. Clay watched fondly as George cooed lovingly to it, stroking its head with a finger.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” he asked.

George tilted his head up as if he was carefully considering his options before shaking his head. “I’ve decided to call him my little ‘Baby’ for now,” he replied, “until I think of a better name.”

“You won’t,” Clay chuckled, poking at George’s cheek. “You’re going to call him ‘Baby’ for the rest of your life.”

“You act like that’s a bad thing,” George huffed, turning pink. “Nick got himself a cat too, maybe we could let them meet Patches?” As if on cue, the tabby purred as she nuzzled her head against George’s legs.

“I’d love that,” Clay replied, picking Patches back up and cradling her in his arms, “but I think it’s best if we prepare for tonight. You know what day it is, don’t you?” George looked at him for a minute, a little puzzled, before his eyes dawned in realization.

“It’s the anniversary of the Last Battle, isn’t it?” George said.

“Yeah,” Clay grinned, “and the founding of the Village. It’s Zak’s turn to host it tonight.”

“Knowing him,” George sighed, “this probably won’t end well.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t know him all the way back then.” Clay laughed as they headed back inside their little brick house. “He used to be a menace.”

“I’ll bet,” George chuckled, gently setting Baby down onto the kitchen floor. Clay watched him, mesmerized, as he fetched some ingredients from the pantry and started preparing them on the counter.

“What are you making?”

“Porkchops with apple glaze.” George turned around to start heating up the furnace. “I figured that Darryl would be making something sweet, so I decided to make something savory.”

“With the apples?”

“I like apples.”

“I know.” Clay gave him a fond, heartwarming smile. 

George couldn’t hold back a flustered grin, switching his focus back to the food instead of his adoring beloved. It didn’t take long before he was done, carefully plating the steaming dish and tucking it away into a little basket.

“You ready?” he called out, carrying it with one hand.

Clay nodded enthusiastically and held out the door for him as they walked towards the house shared by Zak, Darryl, and Vincent, chatting about their day. The other four were already there by the time they’d arrived, with Zak and Darryl lamenting over how Vincent was the oldest of them three now— _”I just look this way! You’re still technically older than me!” Vincent protested_ —and Nick snickering at them in the corner.

“What did we miss?” Clay asked, laughing at the sight.

“Just the usual,” Nick replied. “Nothing much.”

“We’ve brought porkchops,” George announced, taking out the goods from the basket.

"Finally!" Zak exclaimed, standing up. "Everyone take your seats. Dinner is about to begin." He cleared his throat, sounding a little more important than he had to be. His eyes darted around the small crowd, and he opened his mouth once everyone had settled down. 

"As we all know," he began, "this day has been quite momentous for everyone here."

"Hear, hear!" Clay cheered.

"It's the day you guys vanquished the Ender Dragon, the day we founded this village, and the day we all reunited." Zak's tone had grown more sincere. "I never expected to see you all again! For many years, I’ve only known myself as Skeppy, the mass-murdering diamond juggernaut. It took so long before I’ve reconciled being Skeppy with being Zak; and I have all of you to thank for that.

“If I hadn't decided to stop over to rest here on that fateful night, if you had decided to return to the village, if you hadn't found me, then we wouldn't be here sharing this meal together."

"Aww, Zak," Darryl said with a bright, teary grin. "I'm glad we found you too."

"To the greatest friends one could ever wish for!" Nick declared.

"To finding peace with others and with yourself," Vincent mused.

"To cherished memories and new beginnings," Clay said with a smile.

"To life-changing events, big and small," George spoke fondly.

"To the moments in between!" Darryl continued.

"To the Village!" Zak finished, raising his glass of apple cider.

"To the Village!" the others cheered in unison.

"Let's eat!"

Dinner was pleasant, plates filled with pork chop and seared mutton, as well as tempting plates of pumpkin pie and chocolate muffins in the center of the table. Clay had attempted to split one with George, discreetly slipping him the other half before Nick could notice. It wasn't as if Clay kept their relationship a secret, but Nick just found it funny to tease him about it, especially when he got flustered thinking about George.

They were halfway through Darryl's desserts when Zak suddenly urged them to go outside. "If it rains now, my special event will be ruined," he reasoned.

And so the six of them headed to the yard, taking a seat on the freshly mown grass. While waiting for Zak's event to happen, Clay found George's hand threading through his. 

"George?" he asked softly.

"Just thinking," George replied. "I know next year's host will be Nick, then one of us. I don't know what our special event could be."

"It could be anything you want," Clay said, squeezing his hand comfortingly. "We could end up just laying on the grass and watching the stars, and I wouldn't mind at all."

"That's 'cause you're you." George pressed a quick kiss to Clay's cheek. "I feel like I need to do something impressive."

"You still have time to think," Clay assured him, rubbing circles on his palm. "I've already thought of mine." His mind drifted off to the pretty band of gold well-hidden in the bedroom, longing to give it to George at the soonest time possible. _Patience, Clay. You won't lose him again, okay? You have time._

"Give me a little hint, please?" George said, fluttering his lashes.

Clay laughed and brought up George's hand to kiss his knuckles. "I'd rather not spoil it for you."

"Alright!" Zak called out. "It's starting!"

Their eyes immediately turned at the sound of a whoosh and a crackle, and a pop, and suddenly there were bright, colorful lights in the sky.

"Fireworks!" Nick pointed out, mouth agape.

"Let's go!" Zak shouted cheerfully among the din of the explosions.

They watched, enraptured, as the fiery sparks exploded in a burst of color, painting the night sky in an array of hues. The thrilled cheers rang out through the little village, sharp and loud and rightfully delighted. Clay turned to cup George's cheek with his free hand, pulling him in for a quick kiss.

"I love you," he murmured against George's lips.

"I love you too," George replied softly, closing the distance between them again. He rested his head onto Clay's shoulder once they'd parted, looking excitedly towards the fireworks display.

Clay hummed contentedly, bursts of light going on in his heart as well. Finally, _finally,_ things will turn out to be just right, with George and his friends right by his side.

* * *

**ENDING: COLORED LIGHTS**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“It’s not worth it,” Dream said, “We need to save daylight.” He geared himself up to start running again, when George placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay, seriously,” George huffed, “you’ll end up tiring yourself out, idiot.”

“Giving up already?” Dream chortled. He finally relented when George gave him an annoyed pout. “Okay, _fine._ I’ll even carry you if you want.”

“W-What?” Pink dusted George’s cheeks. “I don’t want you to—er—”

Dream turned his focus to the way ahead. The uneasy feeling in his stomach had abated, and he was glad that he’d listened to his instincts. George had calmed down beside him, on the lookout for more food and resources.

“Dream, look, a village!”

There, right in the distance, was a village by the coast. Strange enough, he didn’t feel any discomfort towards this one, so he let George lead the way forward. He threw the Ender Eye again, confirming that the stronghold was located beyond the ocean.

“We’ll probably need to stay there for the night,” Dream reasoned, seeing the sun already past its highest peak. “Let’s get some supplies and some weapons.”

“Oh!” George exclaimed. They stopped shy of the village center, right by the bell tower. “I want to practice my bow skills.”

“You don’t have a bow,” Dream pointed out.

George rolled his eyes. “I saw a fletcher’s shop nearby, genius.” He pulled Dream towards the aforementioned store. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got some experience with a bow, from… from all your past lives, I think.”

“Yeah, I do.” It’s always been one of his favorite weapons to use, but it was clunky around his body, and the quiver wasn’t helping either. “I got used to a sword though.”

“Can you teach me then?” George was already trading away his hard-earned emeralds for a wooden bow and a couple of arrows. Dream didn’t have the heart to tell him _no._

“Sure.”

Then again, he couldn’t deny George anything most of the time.

Dream led George over to a quaint little archery range close to the fletcher’s shop, with targets of birch and spruce set up against cobblestone walls.

“Watch and learn.” He took the bow from George, along with a couple of arrows. The latter smiled as he leaned against the post, watching Dream carefully.

He nocked an arrow against the bowstring, aiming for the target several feet away from him. He took a deep breath and released it, hitting the center with a great _thwack._

“Still got it,” he muttered proudly under his breath.

George chuckled. “My turn?”

“Okay.” He watched as George took his spot and attempted to fire another arrow. It ended up soaring past the target and into the trees, causing them to dissolve into laughter.

“Not bad,” Dream said, grinning.

“Shut up.” George elbowed him, rolling his eyes. “ _Now_ will you teach me?”

“I’d be happy to, after seeing _that_ attempt.” He stood behind George, correcting his stance and his posture before placing his hands onto George's.

"You'll need to pull the string up to _here,_ " Dream whispered, gently guiding his arms. He didn't know whether or not George could feel the way his heart beat rapidly in his chest.

"Like this?"

"Yeah." Dream moved his hands up to George's shoulders. “Take a deep breath and release when you exhale. That should help you along.”

George nodded and followed his instructions, leaning in closer to Dream's chest, exhaling sharply. The arrow struck a couple inches away from Dream's, to his delight.

“ _Not bad,_ ” Dream laughed. “You're a better shot than you think.”

“Only 'cause I had a great teacher.” George turned his head to face him.

“Stop,” Dream chuckled, embarrassed. “That was all you. My turn?”

They each took turns hitting their targets, laughing at the missed arrows and cheering at the successful ones.

“Dream, we should get the arrows back,” George said. “I don’t have any more emeralds for new ones.”

“Your fault for trading them all away,” Dream snickered. 

He and George took the ones on the targets, and headed into the trees to retrieve the other ones. Their hands brushed as they picked up the last arrow on the ground at the same time, a faint spark jolting them at once.

“Hey,” Dream whispered.

“Hey yourself,” George replied with a faint smirk. He let Dream take the arrow, keeping them safely in his rucksack. He also slung the bow around his shoulder. “Let’s find an inn for tonight.”

“We should stock up on supplies first,” Dream said. “That way we can leave early by morning.”

“Just food and weapons, right?"

"Yeah." They headed back onto the main path, splitting apart in search of their own goals. Dream looked around for the telltale forge of a smithy. "I should probably get myself a new sword or—oof!"

"Pardon, are you alright?"

Dream looked at whoever he'd bumped into; a kindly old man wearing silk brocade robes of magenta with gold trim, hands clasped together as if in prayer. _A cleric._

"I apologize," Dream said, "I wasn't looking at where I was going."

"No harm done," the cleric replied. His face suddenly contorted into a deep grimace. "Your past seems rather… troubled. I can sense it within you."

Dream suddenly blanched, but took care to keep himself carefully neutral, despite the protection his mask already offered. The heavy, uneasy feeling returned in his gut. He merely excused himself, pushing past the man and heading towards the smithy.

“What can I do for ya?” asked the gruff weaponsmith.

“What’s the best sword you’ve got?” Dream asked, already looking for the pouch of emeralds in his rucksack.

The smith brought down a gleaming, blue-tinted sword from a display near the forge, placing it on the counter in front of him. “Diamond,” he said. “Hard but flexible. Very durable. You can easily slice through a zombie with this, see?” He laughed.

“How much for it?”

“Twenty-seven emeralds.”

“T-Twenty—?” Dream almost choked on his own spit. “Isn’t that overkill?”

“You think diamonds grow on trees, boy?” The weaponsmith looked almost insulted. “Twenty-seven emeralds. No less.”

Dream felt a lick of irritation rising within him. “Twenty, and I’ll throw in my iron sword.” _Calm down, Dream. Don’t make a scene. You don’t want to disappoint George, do you?_

“I’ve no use for your sword,” the other scoffed. “I can make tons of better ones. You’ve no right to demand things from me in my own shop. If you can’t accept the deal, then leave.”

Dream drew out his blade. “See here—”

He spotted the cleric from earlier out of the corner of his eye. He felt a bit unnerved.

“I bet you’ve never seen one like this before,” he said before he could do something rash. He presented the iron sword to the weaponsmith. The latter took it in his hands, gazing at it disinterestedly until his eyes had reached the hilt.

“My word,” he exclaimed, pointing at the pommel. “The seal of the Guardians—wherever did you find such a thing?”

 _The what?_ “I’ve had it with me for a very long time. I don’t remember where I’ve gotten it.”

“Well,” the smith ran a finger over the blade again before handing Dream the diamond sword. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Twenty emeralds it is.”

Dream paid his share and immediately left the building, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the curious cleric. He carefully sheathed the new sword behind his back and hurried over to a bakery, where he saw George staring longingly at the cookies in the display.

 **> Continue.**

“George?” he called out, placing a hand on his shoulder.

George let out a startled gasp at the contact. “Ah—you scared me for a minute there.” He let out a sheepish chuckle.

“I’ll get you the cookies.” Dream dug around in his pockets for his spare emeralds, giving them kindly to the baker behind the counter. “Yes, I’ll take the whole plate, please.”

“The whole—Dream!” George flushed a little redder. “We don’t need that many… We could’ve spent the money on pork, or steak, or—”

“Maybe.” Dream stored the pouch of chocolate chip cookies in his pack. “But you wanted them too, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Then that’s a good reason enough for me.” Dream turned around to continue on the path when the elderly baker suddenly stopped him from going further.

“Why, you sound familiar, young man!” he said, wagging a finger at him. “You remind me of that… that lad from the village next door!”

The uneasy feeling in his stomach grew tenfold. Maybe they should’ve skipped this village too.

“Yes, yes, I remember him—that nice young man with the best chocolate muffins around these parts.” The baker sighed sadly. “It’s been so long since Darryl’s gone here, you know! You remind me of his friend **Clay.** ”

The world felt like it was slipping from under his feet, like somebody had pulled a rug from underneath him, and now he was crashing down onto the ground. There were suddenly arms around his waist, keeping him steady before he stumbled back too far.

“Oh dear!” the baker cried out in concern. “Is he alright?”

“He’s just tired,” George replied, forcing a smile on his face. “We’ve been travelling the whole day.”

“Poor thing,” he murmured. “We’ve no inn in the village, so I’m afraid you’ll have nowhere to go.”

“They’ll be staying with me,” said a new voice, old and weary and a little too urgent.

“Reverend Aster,” the baker gasped. “Of course.”

“Come.” George whirled his head around to see the cleric’s magenta robes trailing after him. “We mustn’t waste time.”

“Dream,” George whispered to the sagging weight in his arms. “Dream, I need you to stand for me, okay?”

Dream shook his head through the cloud of nausea overpowering his mind. “N-No,” he muttered weakly. “George. Danger.”

“Dan—Dream, he just offered us shelter for the night.” Dream could feel George dragging him away, and he gripped his arm tightly in a panic. “Ow! Dream, what—?”

“George, please…”

“Dream, I think he knows what’s wrong with you.” Dream would’ve melted at the amount of concern George was showing him, but his mind felt too foggy to feel anything but paranoia. “I don’t think you’re just exhausted. Just trust me, okay? If something goes wrong, you can say ‘I told you so’. Okay?”

The thing is, he would, he would, he’d trust George with his whole life. But the thought of someone knowing what he’d done terrified him to the core. George was trustworthy. This stranger wasn’t.

“Okay,” he relented, trying to stand on his shaking knees. “For you, George.” George gave him a tight squeeze before he let him go, leading the way towards a small house made of stone and terracotta. 

Reverend Aster was already there, waiting for them, standing above a golden brewing stand. The house looked more like an apothecary than an actual house, with bundles of herbs strung up near cupboards with jars of various knick knacks, stones of all shapes and sizes littering the worktable, and chests of all kinds stacked up in the corner.

"Come, come," he said urgently, holding something golden in his hand. "Take a seat there, quickly now." He gestured over to a lone bed by the side. George immediately ushered Dream down onto the soft mattress. Dream was still shivering, although it had eased a little by then.

"I won't leave you," George whispered earnestly, squeezing his hand. "I'm here, Dream. It's all going to be okay."

The cleric tossed something over to Dream. _A golden apple?_

"What for?" he asked, turning the fruit over in his hands.

"Eat."

No sooner than Dream had finished the apple, the cleric already had a bottle of something red in his hands.

"Drink," said Aster, thrusting the potion under Dream's nose. The hunter took it hesitantly, his instincts still telling him to _run._

"What is it?" George asked, trying to keep the suspicion off his voice.

"Potion of Healing," answered the cleric. "Now, drink."

The smell was enticing, the taste less so. Dream saw George clutching his bow out of the corner of his eye, looking as though he might attack Aster if anything happened to Dream. The thought sent a funny feeling through his heart.

"Better?"

He was, actually; he'd stopped shaking, at least, but his mind was still a little hazy. But the process felt so familiar but— _ah._ "I'm not a zombie," Dream muttered, brows furrowing under the mask.

"I've sensed a similar aura coming from you," Aster explained. "Like you've lost yourself, son. It’s as if you've been brainwashed."

"I know who I am." Dream stared at the empty bottle in his hands.

 _But did he really?_

"You're welcome to stay for the night," the cleric said sympathetically. “It seems like you’ve a lot to think about. I’ll be in the forests if you need me.”

With that, he left the building, leaving Dream and George alone.

“The nerve of that guy,” George scoffed. “You were right, Dream. I’m sorry. Maybe we should’ve left from the start.”

But Dream wasn’t listening to him—a horrible memory suddenly sprung up in his mind; one where his legs felt like giving out from how exhausted he was, then a forceful shove behind his back, and now he was falling down…

…down…

…down into the jagged depths of a ravine.

He gave an involuntary shiver.

“Dream, are you cold?” George asked softly, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing his shoulders. “You’ve been shaking ever since we went to that bakery.”

 _The bakery, the bakery…_

“George,” Dream rasped, “what did that baker call me again?”

“I don’t think he called you anything,” George said, taken aback. “But he did say you reminded him of someone named Clay.”

Clay. _Clay. **Clay.**_

That accursed name. It sounded strange in his mind, but for some reason it felt so _right._ Like he’d finally found a pair of boots that could properly fit him. At the same time, he felt like he was about to vomit from the revelation. A few stray wisps of memories flashed in his mind: a stone house; four, blurry faces; a trek across the ocean waves.

 _“They’re probably worried about us, Clay,” said a quiet voice next to him. “Darryl and the others.” Something white fluttered in his vision—ribbons?_

 __

 __

 _“We’ll get out of here soon, Nick,” said his own. “Soon.”_

“Dream? You’ve gone pale again.”

Dream’s head snapped over to George, who was looking at him with troubled eyes, clasping his hand in his own.

 _ _“I don’t think he gave you a healing potion, Dream,” George continued. “Maybe we should leave.”__

 _ _“I think I used to have a life before,” Dream interrupted. “Like, the past life of all past lives.”__

 _ _George’s eyes widened. “The… The life before you were a Hunter, you mean?”__

 _ _“Yeah.” He swallowed thickly, even though his mouth felt dry. “I usually remember my lives very clearly. But now I’m getting… hazy memories. I found myself having a conversation with someone I’ve never seen before. Someone named ‘Nick’.”__

 _ _“Maybe it was one of your targets,” George offered.__

 _ _Dream shook his head. “No. He called me _Clay._ ”__

 _ _“Was that your name?”__

 _ _“I think so.” He looked down at their clasped hands and interlaced his fingers with George’s. “I think that cleric was right. Maybe I have been brainwashed.” He thought of all the people he’d killed over the years. It didn’t help his nausea.__

 _ _“I’ll still be here for you, okay?” George squeezed his hand comfortingly. “As Dream or Clay. I won’t abandon you, not now, nor ever.”__

 _ _Dream couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, George.”__

 _ _George smiled back. “Of course.”__

 _ _Dream reached out for his pack. “Now I believe we’d brought some cookies over?”__

 _ _“Oh, yes, _please._ ”__

 _ _ **> Continue.**__

Dream woke up the next day to the sound of bubbling. George was still snoring beside him, his back facing him. Meanwhile, Reverend Aster was already hunched over the brewing stand, regarding him with a kindly face.

“You’re awake,” he said, standing up. Dream wished he hadn’t opened his eyes in the first place.

“I don’t know what your potion did to me yesterday,” Dream said, glaring halfheartedly at him, “but George and I will be leaving soon.”

“As you wish,” Aster replied. “But I would like to give you something that could aid you in your journey.” He reached out for a little box hidden behind a group of jars on the cupboard and retrieved something green and awfully familiar.

“Ender Pearls?”

“Ah, so you’ve seen these before?”

“I know how they work, yes.” Dream made a confused noise when the cleric gave him the whole box. “What…?”

“Take it,” Aster urged him. “Your journey is already perilous, that much I understand. Your mind is clearer now, yes?”

Dream couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “…Yes,” he said, a little unsure. “Thank you for your help.”

“It is my duty to help,” Aster replied.

He said nothing more as Dream roused George up from his slumber, quietly picking up their things, and immediately left the house.

It was early morning, pink skies giving way to blue, the golden rays of sunlight casting the village in a soft, rosy glow. Dream led George over to the coast, where a rickety wooden boat lay waiting for them. It took a heave or two before they were finally sailing away, following the path of the glowing Ender Eye.

Dream rowed the oars at a steady pace as George gazed around the blue surroundings.

“I’ve never been to the ocean before,” he mused, dipping a finger into the water.

“Careful, a Drowned might get you.”

George immediately retracted his hand, glaring at Dream. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Whatever.”

Dream took a quick glance at George, who was now busy staring at the corals in the distance. Sometimes, a school of fish would swim past them, scales glistening in bright colors. A couple of squids would poke their heads above the water before diving back down in its inky depths. George would let out a little giggle every few moments or so before eventually falling silent. He turned his attention back to the way ahead, his mind still swirling with thoughts of yesterday.

“What kind of life did I live back then?” Dream murmured. “Who _was_ Clay?”

“Are you sure you want to dwell on this now?” George asked softly. “It seemed like you were in pain yesterday… It—It scared me to see you like that.”

“I’ve suffered through worse,” Dream replied. It was true, but now his mind was all jumbled, like an unsolved mystery with its pieces scattered throughout time. He felt a little guilty for making George worry about him, when there were worse things to feel nervous about. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t _not_ worry about you.” George was quieter now. “You’re my best friend.”

As if sensing the tension in the air, a dolphin suddenly leapt out of the water, squeaking beside their boat.

“A dolphin!” Dream and George exclaimed at the same time.

Dream almost lost control of the oars as the dolphin pushed them forward, its trilling noises almost mocking when George nearly lost his balance. It swam away, sounding as though it were laughing at their predicament. George rolled his eyes as Dream let out an amused guffaw.

“Not funny,” George huffed. “Didn’t laugh.”

Suddenly, a trident shot out of the water, missing their boat by a few inches. George screamed in alarm, pointing at the strange figure lurking underwater.

“Dream!” George sputtered, “Dream there’s a—there’s a—DREAM! There’s a _man!_ With a _trident!_ G-Go! Go! GO!”

“I _am!_ ” Dream yelled, using the adrenaline rushing in his veins to row even _faster._ “We’re out of the area now, chill!”

“What was that?!” George tried to calm himself down. “Was that a—a gurgler or something—?”

“A Drowned,” Dream corrected him. “It won’t get us on land, so we’ll be safe from them by then, at least. Told you I wasn’t lying.”

“My heart was _racing._ ” George let out a big exhale. “Remind me to never doubt you again, Dream. Your words are the absolute truth now and forever.”

“What, you doubted me before?” Dream giggled.

“Not anymore, even though you’re such an idiot most of the time.”

“If my words are the absolute truth,” Dream hummed, “then I say I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s cheating!” George crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look angry, but the grin on his face betrayed him.

“How is that cheating?” Dream cackled loudly. “You’re the one who said I can only tell the truth!”

“Oh, so now what? _I’m_ the idiot?”

“Of course not.” A pause. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, George.”

“I—Uh—” George blinked a few times, red dusting his cheeks. “I _do_ give myself credit! Whatever… I take back my earlier statement.”

“Which one?”

“The one about you being the absolute truth.”

“Fair enough.”

George squints at something in the distance. “Dream! Look!” He pointed forward excitedly. “Land!”

“Yes!” Suddenly energized, Dream attempted to move the oars as quickly as he could while George cheered him on. It didn’t take long before they finally managed to set their feet onto the sand, the waves crashing behind them. Dream retrieved the Ender Eye in his cloak and threw it overhead, following wherever it landed until it suddenly shattered, to their dismay.

A sudden wave of dizziness overcame him. He wasn't sure if it was because of the ocean's rolling waves or the sudden sense of déjà vu that hit him.

“We’re close,” Dream breathed. “This place looks familiar.”

George nodded. “Are you afraid?”

“I'm not sure. Going here might reveal something about…” He took a gulp of breath. “…about what happened to me.”

George’s hand twitched by his side, wanting to grab Dream’s hand again. He stopped himself, only giving a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here with you whenever you need me.”

To his surprise, Dream took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, George.”

George clasped his hand back, his smile growing a little wider. “Anytime.”

They ended up sacrificing one of the twelve pearls to make another Ender Eye and followed it deep into the birch forest, where it finally sunk down to the ground. George’s eye caught something, and his heart dropped down in his stomach.

“Dream,” he murmured, “look.”

Dream followed his gaze until he saw the wooden trapdoor blending in with the grassy surroundings, vines growing over it like a tough layer of rope. A cold feeling of dread suddenly enveloped him. Taking a deep breath, he cut away the vines and lifted up the heavy hatch, revealing wooden rungs set into the rocky walls like a crude ladder.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” George replied.

Dream led the way, his grip on the rungs shaking as he descended further and further into the darkness. Suddenly, he saw the faint pinpricks of light down below and carefully quickened his pace, telling George to hurry up. Once his feet reached the old stone bricks, he was shocked to see what awaited them in the stronghold.

 **> Continue.**

Papers.

Just _papers,_ scattered everywhere like a storm had gone through a library and completely destroyed it.

Dream picked up one of the pages on the floor, face quickly paling at the contents.

“What is it?” George asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“It’s… it’s some notes on Endermen, I think. But that’s not all.” His brows furrowed together, carefully tracing each letter with his finger. “This is my handwriting.”

“So you’ve been here before,” George breathed, picking up another page. “This one’s in the same handwriting, I think.”

“Yeah.” Dream’s hands grew clammy. “This feels _surreal._ Like I’ve been living a double life even I didn’t know about.”

“Why would you throw away these notes, though?” George thought aloud. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you kept it all in one place?”

"I don't know…"

Another memory flashes in his mind. _Thundering feet clacking against the stone brick, someone grunting as they chased him through dimly lit halls, papers scattering in the wind. There'd been a flash of red in the corner of his eye, but he wasn't sure if it was someone's cloak or a puddle of blood._

“Someone was chasing me when I died.” He followed the paper trail past the oak door, the corridor already lit up with torches. “I might’ve been trying to blind them or something. Maybe I tried obscuring information."

"This one looks different," George noted, picking up another page. "You're right, it _is_ about Endermen, at least, that's what I think this is."

Dream looked over at the sketch, as well as the hurried scribbles of _"water works?!?"_ at the margins. 

_The figure in his memories was clearer now, although their face was morphing into different, shapeless features. He could make out a bright, smug grin, suddenly twisting in a horrible grimace. The white ribbon around their head—a bandanna, that must be it—was quickly turning red._

"That must be Nick," he said. "Looks like we both got to the stronghold in the end."

"You were so close," George murmured, unconsciously rubbing his arm. "To beating the Dragon, I mean."

"Hey now." Dream placed a hand on his shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you. I can revive for as many times as I want, so you don't need to worry about me. I just need a place to sleep and I'll be good to go."

"I told you, I can't _not_ worry about you!" George protested, his eyes pleading. "You throw yourself into danger like it's nothing. You're going to kill me from the stress."

"Maybe that was my plan all along." Dream's chuckles faded away upon seeing George's frown. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It's just… when you're so used to being revived over and over again, you start taking your life for granted." He drew his hand back to himself, turning his head away. "Limbs grow. Wounds heal. Scars fade. It hurts at first but then you'll feel nothing again. It's like it was never there in the first place."

"Dream," George said seriously, reaching for Dream's masked face. "Promise me you'll try not to get hurt for my sake."

"George," Dream chuckled nervously, "I can't promise that—"

 _"Promise me, Dream."_

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I promise."

"Good." George wrapped him in a crushing embrace. "I don't know what I'd do if you died for me. I… I won't be able to bear seeing you die over and over again."

Dream hugged him back tightly. "I don't want to see you die either, George," he murmured. "It'd break me."

They stood there in the cold, damp hallway for a few moments, holding each other as though they would fade from existence the minute one of them let go. Dream rested his head onto the other's, and George listened to the steady rhythm of Dream's heart. He was alive, they were alive, and it scared him to think what would happen otherwise.

"Dream," George spoke up, throat dry.

"Hmm?"

"I think I lo—"

The sudden groan of a zombie stopped George from saying anything further. Dream immediately drew his blade, slicing cleanly through the creature and killing it immediately.

"You were saying?"

"I think… I think we need to move on."

Dream frowned. "That was it?"

George nodded lamely. "Yeah… Yeah that was it."

"You're right." Dream moved along the hallways, passing through doors of wood and iron. "Imagine the odds of us coming across this stronghold. I probably wouldn't have been able to retrieve my memories."

"It would have been awful," George agreed. "And that cleric must've done a number on you, too."

"I think he could've been misguided," Dream thought aloud, "with the brainwashing thing."

Had _Clay_ really been brainwashed into becoming _Dream?_ But he'd died in that ravine, right…? Then again, he could now respawn whenever he perished, so perhaps…

Meanwhile, George was trying to decipher the dual writings on the notes he collected. "Looks like it was only the two of you here. There's no other penmanship other than yours and Nick's."

Dream suddenly stopped. "George, look." Headed by an arch of iron bars, a room lit up by wells of lava greeted their eyes. Moss and dampness lined the walls, along with windows of steel frames. There in the middle sat a staircase of cracked stone bricks, leading up to a platform with its true treasure: the End Portals. The endstone base floated above a pool of lava like it was nothing, a three-by-three array of frames awaiting their keys. Dream felt a little intimidated. He'd never gotten to this point with anyone else, ever.

"There's one Ender Eye in there," George noted. "We're so lucky the cleric gave us just enough. Imagine hunting down eleven more Endermen…" He shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, a scuttling sound alarmed them, and Dream yelled in pain, seeing a cluster of wriggling, silvery insects half the size of his foot, jumping and nipping through the leather of his pants.

"Silverfish!" he cried in alarm. “Get them, George!”

“I’ve got you!” George yelled, bringing out his axe and hacking away at the creatures. 

“There must be a spawner here.” Dream’s eyes quickly darted around the room. “These things can’t appear this quickly without one.” He finally managed to see the iron cage atop the stairs and swiftly destroyed it with his pickaxe. 

George easily disposed of the remaining pests before running over to Dream, looking him over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, George,” Dream said, secretly relishing George’s attention. “They were just bites, nothing more.”

“I know.” George fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I’m just worried about you.” He cleared his throat. “We should… we should look for someplace else to make the Ender Eyes. We don’t know if there’s more silverfish around.”

Dream nodded. “The papers didn’t stop here. I bet we’ll find out more at the end of the trail.”

At the end of the hallway stood a heavy wooden door, with dual torches hanging on either side of it. Pushing it open, they were surprised to see even more papers scattered on the ground. George picked up as many as he could while Dream explored the rest of the room.

It was a little library of sorts, with its maze of bookshelves capped in a thick layer of dust as well as dense networks of cobwebs. Dream spotted a little ladder off in the back and beckoned George over. The latter hurried over to him, arms bearing a ton of pages. They went upstairs, where two crude woolen beds were set up in the darkest corners of the area. They dusted the sheets before collapsing onto one of the beds, George dropping his papers all over it.

“Hey.” George pointed at a dust-covered chest by the corner. “Think there’s something good in there?”

“Nick and I might have been here,” Dream said. “It’s probably empty anyway, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

George stumbled over to it and scoffed at the contents. “Ugh. Just more blank paper, and a book, I guess.” Something slipped from inside the pages, and his eyes immediately widened in alarm. “Dream!”

“What’s wrong?”

George wordlessly held up a crumpled up photograph of three figures—Clay, a man with a white bandanna _(Nick?)_ and a third man, with fluffy hair swooping over horn-rimmed glasses _(Darryl?)_. Splatters of blood marked its corner, as well as that of the book itself. Dream went pale.

It was like looking into a mirror.

"Do they look familiar to you?" George asked.

Dream carefully took off his mask in front of George for the first time since they met. He watched as George's eyes dawned in recognition, darting back and forth between him and the photograph.

“You’re…” George breathed out, eyes wide.

“I look exactly the same,” Dream finished for him, looking troubled. “If I died like this then maybe… the same thing happened to Nick. And whoever this third guy is.”

Suddenly, an image of himself getting reprimanded by a man with a high, gentle voice—not Nick, no—telling him not to tire Cash out too much. Behind him was a lush garden, with melons and potatoes and all kinds of flowers.

 _“I’ll be careful, Darryl,” his voice rang out through the wood. “Nick will be here to watch me, won’t he?”_

 _“Why are you pinning this on me?” Nick huffed. Clay could see them now, yes, just like in the picture._

 _He could finally put names to their faces._

“George,” he said, “I remembered something now.”

But George wasn’t paying attention to him, his gaze fixated instead onto his face. Dream felt his cheeks burn out of self-consciousness, and he put his mask back on.

George suddenly blinked and shook his head. “Huh?”

“These are Nick and Darryl,” Dream replied, pointing at the photograph. “We were friends once.”

George sat back down next to him and shifted through the pages of the book. “I’m going to try and figure out what you’ve been writing about,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Endermen, right?” Dream frowned, storing the photo of them in his cloak.

“Yeah. But look here”—George pointed at a specific paragraph—“where you mentioned something about Dragon’s Breath.”

“What?!” Dream squinted at the page, alarmed. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’d need to have defeated the Dragon before getting its breath. There’s no other way out of the End.”

“Unless there were other Dragons before it,” George countered. “Then someone could’ve gotten it and gotten out easily.”

“That’s even more ridiculous.” Dream’s head was swimming. “Why would Hunters need to protect it if there’s more that existed?”

“Maybe it’s an endangered species kind of thing.” George shrugged, reading down the other pages. “You said that when you killed the guy chasing you, you managed to collect Dragon’s Breath from where he died…?”

“Let me see that.” Dream wrenched the book from George’s hands, his palms growing sweaty.

George was right.

The foul-smelling gas had apparently lingered on after Dream—or Clay, whatever—took out their assailant with his trusty bow. A recipe on healing potions followed on the next page, along with his musings on whether or not adding the Breath would drastically affect the brew.

"I think…" Clay began slowly, "I think the reason I'm able to respawn is because I've got Dragon's Breath in my veins. A-Assuming the guy I killed was a Hunter."

George's eyes widened. "That's pretty believable. After all, it does tend to linger on for a long time."

His existence felt so _strange._ Perhaps the time he spent away from killing his targets finally gave him time to think about himself. George took notice of his discomfort and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I think this was your journal. Do you want to continue on reading, Dream?” George asked softly. “I could always craft the Ender Eyes while we wait.”

 **> Read the journal.**  
**> Craft the Eyes.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“I want to read it,” Clay replied.

George nodded. “Want me to give you some space?”

“No, please stay with me.”

“Okay.” George scooted over to him as he grabbed the pearls in the leather pouch as well as the blaze rods in his pack, easily crushing the metal into fine powder.

Clay turned his attention back to the journal, picking off interesting tidbits as he read along.

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> It’s probably been a week since Nick and I got trapped here. I’ve tried asking him to come with me above ground to find Endermen, but he’s convinced that there’s someone still with us in the stronghold. He keeps hearing footsteps everywhere and it’s driving us insane. He wants me to throw away our notes but I can’t do it.
> 
> I’m convinced that whatever it was that I got from the guy I killed could be the key to immortality. If I can just figure it out, I think we could achieve a lot of good in the Overworld.”

He chuckles hollowly to himself. _A lot of good… yeah right. As if killing all those innocent people could be considered “good”._ George hums beside him, leaning into his shoulder. Dream smiles faintly at the action.

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> I found a book in the library today about an ancient society of guardians. It’s talking about how it used to deify the Ender Dragons, swearing to always protect them with their lives despite the chaos they reigned. Apparently the guardians weren’t doing good enough, as the dragons started dwindling in number. They sealed themselves in the End in a last attempt to preserve the last one and nobody knew what happened to them ever since. 
> 
> I think it’s fascinating, but Nick thinks it’s silly. He’s been collecting papers all day and writing—maybe I’ve finally convinced him to. He really hasn’t been the same after Cash went missing in the birch forest.
> 
> He still wants me to throw away my journal. I think this will be good for whoever comes to this stronghold next, though. Then they won’t have to read through the twenty other books I found on the subject.”

An ancient society of guardians? His mind drifted off to the weaponsmith that seemed oddly interested in his sword.

 _“The seal of the Guardians—wherever did you find such a thing?”_

Dream wondered if he and George would come face to face with them once they jumped through the portal. If they were anything like the current Hunters, he feared they’d be powerful enough to stop them.

 _But the promise—_

 _—it’s not more important than George’s life, Clay._

 _But you’ll end up breaking his heart._

 _At least he’ll still have a beating one. At least he’ll still be alive._

Dream shakes his head and continues reading.

> "XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> An obscure potions book said that what I've gotten the other day was Dragon's Breath; it makes potions last longer after throwing them. As long as an Ender Dragon is still alive, it will never fizzle out. They've reported incidents of the Breath suddenly disappearing before reappearing again. Just how many dragons are there in existence?”

Dream stilled for a moment. If they killed the Dragon, would the Breath keeping him alive suddenly disappear?

 _Would he die permanently?_

"George," he began, "it says here that the Breath will stick around as long as one Dragon is still alive."

"You're still able to respawn," George said, realization dawning on his face, "so it must have gone undefeated for many years."

"Would I die with it if it does?" Dream thought aloud.

"I won't let you," George said quietly. "I'll keep you safe, Dream. I promise that."

> “XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> It's strange how there's barely any books on Endermen in this library. I suggested examining them to Nick and he refused, as usual. I can't let him know that I wasted a pearl by cutting it open to see how it works. It disappeared, of course, the minute the skin broke—but it left this weird fruity smell lingering in the air. I don't think I recognize that scent in the Overworld.
> 
> I couldn't bottle it the way I did the Breath, though. Imagine making a potion that could teleport you anywhere!
> 
> I just want answers. I feel like Nick wants to go home. I can't blame him though—it's my fault for suggesting this quest in the first place. I just want the world to be better.”

"I found out that Ender Pearls leave behind a fruity smell when you cut them open," Dream said.

"Why would you cut one open in the first place?" George asked, distracted by the swirling powder.

"Didn't know how Endermen worked, I think." Dream paused, flipping through the rest of the entries. "Yeah. After that entry, there were more notes that popped up about them. Why was I so obsessed with them?"

 _Immortality?_

A great chunk of the remaining pages have been violently ripped away, little shreds of paper remaining behind. There was but one page left with writing on it, the rest blank or torn apart.

> "XX / XX / XXXX,
> 
> THEY'RE HERE.  
>  I can see the flashes of pink and green.  
>  They got him while we were hunting mobs.  
>  There was so much blood.  
>  I found Nick's body by the portal room this morning.  
>  When I came back to bury it, it was gone.  
>  I'm sorry.  
>  I'm sorry.  
>  I'm taking his advice.  
>  Fuck the notes.  
>  They're here for me.  
>  Help. _Help. Help. **Help. H e l p.**_ ”

Dream sighed and closed the journal. He presumed that Clay threw it in the chest afterwards and just booked it out of there with the papers in his hands. Speaking of the papers, they only detailed things that Dream already knew, like how Endermen feared water, and that if you hit it in a certain spot, you could accidentally damage its pearl and leave it useless.

“You finished?” George asked.

“Yeah.”

“So am I.” He proudly showed off the eleven Ender Eyes he’d just crafted. “Do you think we’re prepared to go to the End now?”

“My mind is reeling.” Dream shook his head. “I think… I think I want to sleep.” His hand circled around George’s wrist before the man could stand, begging him a silent question.

 _Don’t leave me._

George sighed fondly at the action. “Let me just put these away first.” He fetched his rucksack, placing it closer to the bed and leaving his bow with it. When he’d turned around to face Dream, the other had an arm up while lying on his side.

“What are you doing, Dream?” George asked, chuckling.

“I want to hug you,” Dream replied. “I’m not sure if we’ll end up surviving in the end, so…”

“Shh, let’s not talk about that yet.” George lied down next to him, fulfilling his request. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“He died before I did, George.” Dream buried his nose into George’s soft hair, trembling slightly. “They got him and I couldn’t—I couldn’t protect him.” He took a ragged breath. “He just wanted things to be over with, but I—I—”

“Shh, shh,” George whispered, stroking Dream’s hair gently. “You couldn’t have known. You did all you could.”

“But I _didn’t,_ ” Dream said weakly. “I forced us to go on a quest for immortality. He just wanted to go home.”

“We’ll avenge him tomorrow,” George said. “I promise.”

“I got what I wanted—I’m practically immortal now. But at what cost?”

“Shh, get some rest, Dream.” He didn’t miss the way George squeezed him tighter. “It will all be better in the morning. We’ll fight for Nick. For Darryl, too.”

“I trust you,” Dream murmured into chocolate brown locks, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “I love you, George.”

Had he been awake enough, he would’ve felt George’s hand still on his head, would’ve seen the way he tensed, would’ve heard his breath hitch at the confession.

He would’ve heard the soft _“I love you too”_ in return.

 **> Continue.**

“I want to craft the Ender Eyes instead,” Clay replied.

George nodded. “Want me to give you some space?”

“No, please stay with me.”

“Okay.” George let him scoot over beside him. Clay grabbed the pearls in the leather pouch as well as the blaze rods in his pack, easily crushing the metal into fine powder.

It was a comforting process, watching the blaze powder mix with the jellylike contents of the Ender Pearl. The membrane skin immediately hardened, making it more impervious towards accidental breaking. George was skimming the pages beside him, breathing softly.

“You went on a quest for immortality,” he said.

“What for?” Dream’s brows furrowed together. There wasn’t anything fun about being one; at least, that’s what being a Hunter taught him.

“Making the world a better place.” George sighed. Dream couldn’t help but do the same. _Yeah, right…_ “You thought that the Dragon’s Breath could be the key to it.”

“Oh.”

George shifted slightly, leaning against Dream’s shoulder. The latter already had four Ender Eyes in his possession, already working on another. George made a sudden humming noise.

“What?” Dream asked.

“Nothing, just something interesting.”

“It can’t be nothing _and_ interesting at the same time,” Dream chuckled.

“If I told you that Endermen are the remains of an ancient society of guardians, would you believe me?”

“What? That sounds ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” George smiled, as if he knew something Dream didn’t. “Your notes aren’t all that bad, actually.”

“My notes are ridiculous.”

George rolled his eyes. “So this is what it’s like to be in your mind,” he mused. “You’re always wanting to learn more. Twenty books for a report on how Dragon’s Breath works? I _wish_ I had the patience for that.”

“What? How does it work?”

“Here,” George pointed at a sentence. “ _‘As long as an Ender Dragon is still alive, it will never fizzle out’._ Therefore, if the Breath is still in your body, it means that the Dragon hasn’t died yet.”

“Or maybe another one lived,” Dream countered, his stomach suddenly churning anxiously.

“You're right,” George replied. “But the fact that you're still able to respawn means that the Dragon is still alive. Nobody has ever succeeded in killing it."

"Except _you_ will."

"Dream…"

"I'd be damned if I let anything happen to you."

"Dream, we talked about this," George sighed, bumping Dream's shoulder with his forehead. "Neither of us are going to die. We're both going to defeat the Dragon once and for all. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"I'll keep you safe, Dream. I promise you."

Dream watched as George reached the final page, his face darkening with the final entries. "What is it, George?"

"I don't think you'd want to see it," he replied. "I-It's Nick. He died before you."

"Oh." Dream's guts suddenly felt like lead.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." He stowed away the eleven Ender Eyes he'd just crafted into George’s rucksack. "I couldn't… I couldn't protect him."

George's arms suddenly wrapped around him. Dream leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort. He felt _powerless._ What if the same thing happened to George—?

"Let's get some rest for tonight," George whispered, tucking away his bow right next to his rucksack. "We'll be better in the morning."

George lied down on the bed right next to Dream, stroking his hair as he lulled him to sleep.

"I can't handle the thought of you ending up like my friends did," Dream whispered. "Alone. Missing. _Dead._ Especially because of _me._ " He enveloped George in his arms, squeezing tight.

"We'll fight for them, I promise. For Nick and Darryl."

“I trust you,” Dream murmured into chocolate brown locks, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “I love you, George.”

Had he been awake enough, he would’ve felt George’s hand still on his head, would’ve seen the way he tensed, would’ve heard his breath hitch at the confession.

He would’ve heard the soft _“I love you too”_ in return.

 **> Continue.**

Clay wakes up cocooned in a warm hug, and he immediately feels slightly better about the whole situation. The journal was now discarded onto the floor, its horrors bare to all. He reluctantly pulls himself away from George's arms to store it away in his rucksack. Anything was better than leaving it to rot in this godforsaken stronghold.

George stirred on the bed, suddenly feeling cold. 

"Dream?" he asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "You up already?"

"Just getting ready," Clay replied. George leaned his forehead onto Clay's back, breathing evenly, before he suddenly jolted backwards.

“You showed me your face,” George blurted out.

Clay had forgotten about that. “Oh. I did.” He watched as George fidgeted with the sheets. “Was I… Was it too strange for you?”

“I honestly didn’t know what I was expecting.” George let out a flustered laugh. “I-It wasn’t weird to me, I promise. Quite… Quite the opposite, actually…”

“O-Oh.” Clay’s cheeks felt hot underneath the mask.

“N-Not that I would’ve minded otherwise!” George held out his hands in front of him. “You could’ve been the ugliest man in the Overworld and I’d still…” A pretty blush settled onto his cheeks. “I would…”

“Yes, George?” Clay asked in a small whisper, afraid that his shaking voice would give away his true feelings.

George shook his head and turned his gaze to the side. “N-Nevermind.”

“Oh.” Clay tried to hide his disappointment. "Wanna eat some breakfast? We've got a big day ahead of us."

“What have you got?”

“Apples.” He tossed one over to George, who easily caught it in his hands. “I’m saving the meat and the bread for later.”

“Smart,” George remarked through a mouthful of apple.

“I try to be.”

George laughed and Clay smiled, taking a bite out of his own fruit. They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, eating quietly as they ruminated on their plans.

“Are you ready, George?” Clay asked. “This could—This could be the end, you know.”

“We’ll make sure it won’t come to that.” George flashed him a brilliant smile, and it eased down Clay’s nerves. He gave George’s hand a grateful squeeze, which he returned.

“Let’s go.”

George retrieved his pack and slung the bow around his shoulder. Clay made sure that his sword was safely in its sheath behind his back before shrugging on his knapsack. They gave each other a silent nod before descending down the rickety ladder and back onto the library’s main floor. It had scarcely been a minute before Clay’s ears suddenly picked up a sound that should not have been there.

“George, quiet.” Clay’s head whirled around towards the door. “I think I heard something.”

“It’s probably just a zombie or a skeleton,” George reasoned, a hand already on his bow. “No need to panic.”

“No, that’s different.” Clay leaned in closer to the shelves, straining to hear more. “It sounds like…”

 _Footsteps._

Clay’s eyes widened and he immediately grabbed George by the arm, dragging him towards the exit. An arrow suddenly whizzed by George’s head, narrowly missing him.

“Muffins!” someone cursed in a harsh whisper.

 _No… it can’t be…_

“To the portal room!” George cried, distracting Clay from his thoughts. Someone was now definitely chasing after them, heels clacking on the stone brick.

It’s _absurd!_ Are Hunters allowed to hunt other Hunters? Then again, Dream might’ve been the only one who strayed from his purpose, protecting someone who wanted to kill the Dragon. He tried to get a glimpse of their assailant, tried to figure out _who—_

“Sapnap’s here!” another voice announced, and a figure emerged from the shadows, brandishing an iron axe.

 _White bandanna billowing behind him. A smug smirk playing on his lips._

Clay’s blood ran cold.

 _Nick._

“Sapnap!” cried their earlier pursuer. “Get them!”

“Isn’t that—” George faltered.

“On it, Bad!” _Sapnap_ shouted, running towards the duo. Clay whirled around to see someone aiming a crossbow at George, their hood obscuring their face in darkness. Time seemed to stop as Clay reached out for George with a cry, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the line of fire.

This _Bad_ person wasn’t fast enough, trying to reload their crossbow. Small mistake, as it gave Clay the opportunity he needed to tackle them to the ground, quickly holding his sword up to their neck, while George quickly aimed his bow at Sapnap.

“Dream,” George breathed, never taking his eyes off the taller man, “It’s _him,_ isn’t it?”

“He probably doesn’t remember, like I did.” Clay’s mouth was growing dry. “He won’t be able to answer to his name.” _If Nick’s here, maybe this could be…?_ In a fit of curiosity, Clay pulled down his captive’s hood.

 _Fluffy hair swooping over big, bright eyes. Mouth curved into a deep-set frown._

“Hey!” he cried, struggling in Clay’s grasp.

 _Darryl._

It was a miracle that Clay hadn’t dropped him yet out of shock.

“You could kill us a thousand times, but we’ll always be back for you!” Bad snarled. “Remember the names Sapnap and BadBoyHalo; we’ll be the ones to kill you once and for all!”

Sapnap took a swipe towards George, but the shorter man was quicker, easily lodging an arrow through his thick armor. He hissed in pain, but smiled regardless.

“Not bad,” he grinned, getting ready to pounce again.

“Dream! What do we do?” George yelled. “Maybe they’d listen to you if you tried!”

Clay weighed his options. He had to think fast—BadBoyHalo was seriously trying to get out of his grip, and Sapnap was clearly planning to slice through George despite his wounded shoulder.

 **> Try to convince them.**  
**> It's a lost cause.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“Get him!” Clay yelled. “But don’t kill him yet!”

George nodded and quickly shot an arrow into Sapnap’s shoulder, causing him to drop the axe in pain. George quickly kicked it out of the way before pulling the wooden handle against his throat, choking him slightly.

“Stop struggling,” George yelled, “or this will be more painful for you!” He watched as Sapnap’s eyes turned to the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and he stilled for a moment.

“We’ll still return even if you kill us, you know,” Bad hissed. “You of all people should know that, _Dream._ ” Sapnap shouted his agreement even as George desperately tried to keep him in place.

“Listen to me!” Dream yelled over the commotion. “What good does it do to keep that Dragon alive?! It’s poisoned the rivers, created so much chaos, and ruined so many lives!” George bowed his head. “It will never stop sowing discord while it lives.”

“The only thing that’s been poisoned is your mind,” Sapnap spat, struggling against George’s grip. “Have you forgotten what we are, you _traitor?_ ”

A long time ago, that word would’ve stung him, but Dream only regarded him with the cold impassivity of his mask. “You say my mind is poisoned,” he said calmly, “but I could only speculate about yours.”

“Without it, we’ll die,” Bad spoke quietly, a little unnerved. “I’ve read the books. The Dragon’s Breath keeping us alive will die out and take us down with it.”

“No,” George countered. “It just stops making you… reset.” He stared at Dream from across the corridor. “You’ll live, but you won’t be immortal anymore.”

“You can’t be too sure,” Sapnap glowered at him. “It’s a big risk. I’m not dying for something so stupid.”

“We’ve _**already**_ died!” Clay shouted with a bone-chilling roar. “Over and over and _over_ again! Aren’t you tired?” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “We used to live normal lives before… don’t you remember?”

“You’re lying,” Bad said, but the fight in his voice was gone.

“I can prove it,” Clay said, his voice shaking. “Only if you promise not to fight back.”

“We’ll never stop—!” Sapnap started, but Bad held up a hand to stop him.

“I want to see how.”

 _Maybe,_ Clay thought desperately, fishing through his pockets for the photograph pressed into his journal, _maybe Darryl’s still in there, somewhere._

He hands Bad the crumpled thing, watching his face as it flickered from curiosity to familiarity to horror before they were rapidly changing, too quick for Clay to pick apart. Sapnap had quieted down in George’s arms, straining to look over at the two.

“Why…” Bad’s voice trembled uneasily. “Why do you have a photograph of us…?”

“Darryl, _please,_ ” Clay begged, gripping his arms. “Darryl, you have to remember. We’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?” He lifted his mask over his head, watching as a glint of recognition flashed in Bad’s eyes. “Please, I need you to remember.”

“C-Clay…!” a choked sob ripped out of Darryl’s throat. “What happened to us…?”

“What did you do to him?!” Sapnap shouted. “What have you done with Bad?!”

“Nick, _please!_ ” Darryl sniffled, shivering as though he’d suddenly been thrust into the cold. “What have _we_ done?”

Sapnap suddenly blanched, his chest heaving, his breath coming out in short puffs. “W-What?”

Darryl suddenly clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “It hurts. I don’t think I’m okay in the head right now.” Clay immediately fretted over him, but he waved him off. “This is so _weird._ It feels like… I’ve solved a mystery. But I don’t have all the pieces.”

“Trust me, I know,” Clay said gently. He carefully removed the photo from Darryl’s grip and tossed it over to Sapnap.

"I refuse to look at it," he said, turning away.

"It's only a photograph," George pointed out.

"…I know."

But he looks anyway, and his expression immediately crumples, as though the weight of his crimes finally bore down on him.

"Take it away!" Nick cried. "I don't want to see it anymore."

"How long have we been gone…?" Darryl murmured.

"I don’t know," Clay said, holding him consolingly. "There’s still some pieces missing from me. I’d hoped you’d have some answers."

"Oh," was all Darryl said before he erupted into tears, clinging on to Dream for support. "I want to go home, Clay. I can’t take this anymore."

"I know, I know," Clay replied softly. "We will go home afterwards, won't we?"

"I feel nauseous," Nick mumbled, sagging against George. "I don't know if it's the blood loss or the memories."

"Do you want to reset?" George asked sympathetically, pocketing the photograph.

Nick shook his head. "I'm afraid to wake up alone again."

"You'll never be alone," George said. "Not when you've got us."

"I… I'll take you there," Nick said, looking to Darryl for silent permission. Darryl gives him a wordless nod, getting shakily to his feet.

Nick led them to the end of the corridor, past the little library, and into an empty cell where two hammocks remained suspended along the walls. Clay and Darryl took a seat at one, the latter's sobs quieting down into soft sniffles.

"Make it quick," Nick said. "Please."

George nodded wordlessly and shot an arrow straight into his heart, knocking the wind out of him for a second before his body disappeared from view. Suddenly, there he was on the other hammock, looking as though he had just awoken from a long, refreshing nap. The arrows stuck in his body were gone, the blood cleaned, the armor impeccable. It was as though he'd never died in the first place.

"I've never seen anyone respawn before," George said.

Nick gave Clay an appraising look as he sat up. "Funny," he mused. "I'd have thought that Clay's recklessness would've killed him at least once."

Clay's smile wobbled on his face. "Good to see you again, Nick."

"I think I remember how I died." Darryl's faint voice echoed in the empty chamber. "The fires…" he laughed hollowly, rubbing his arms subconsciously. "I never could stand them. I didn't understand why, until now, I think." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I think someone set my house on fire."

Clay's heart ached. "I'm so sorry, Darryl."

"It wasn't your fault." Darryl smiled at him kindly, his brows still knitted together. "It's just… surreal. Remembering all these."

"I think I know how _I_ died," Nick murmured, looking at Dream. "You were with me, weren't you, Clay?"

"Yes," Clay whispered back, his heart sinking in his chest.

"We were being hunted down too." Nick's face scrunched in concentration. "They got me before they got you, I think. Teamed up on me with their weapons."

"Then I ran away like a coward and fell in a ravine."

"You were _not_ a coward." Nick frowned. "You were only doing what you could to save yourself."

"I wish I could've saved you instead."

"Dream," George spoke up quietly.

“We’re all together now,” Darryl said firmly, hastily wiping away his tears. “We should think about that instead, right?”

“I tried so hard not to accept that these were mine,” Nick said, holding up the notes scattered on the floor. “It’s not easy to accept something like this… Lost memories, sudden purpose…? How did you do it, Clay?”

Clay looked back at George, who was smiling fondly at him. He smiled back. “Trust me, you’re already doing so much better than I did.”

“But if we come with you,” Darryl began, “they’ll just send in another group to come hunt us.”

“That’s why we have to finish this now.” A determined glint flashed in George’s eyes. “We’ll kill the Ender Dragon once and for all.”

“Are you ready to take on that task?” Clay asked, turning to Nick and Darryl. “You will be going against everything you’ve ever believed in.”

“I don’t believe in senseless violence,” Nick murmured. “Whatever happened to me after I died, changed everything about me.” He lifted his head up, more sure of himself. “If killing the Dragon is what it will take for us to get our lives back, then so be it.”

“I’ll be with you guys every step of the way,” Darryl agreed, a brave grin on his face.

“Then let’s get ourselves a Dragon,” George finished with a grin.

 **> Continue.**

The group found themselves in a small chamber made of endstone; porous, pale yellow walls surrounding them from every corner. Their feet land on a floating obsidian platform, their ears picking up the Dragon’s growls, and the Endermen’s teleporting whooshes.

“I feel sick,” George mumbled, his face pale.

“It’s just your nerves,” Clay assured him, squeezing his hand comfortingly. He’d put his mask back on. “There’s four of us here. I won’t let anything harm you, okay?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Nick said, carving a path through the walls with George’s pickaxe.

The first thing they notice are the tall, towering spires of obsidian, the dark stone almost camouflaging itself against the inky blackness of the Void. The Dragon flaps overhead as though it didn't have a care in the world, yet Clay knew how agitated it was.

“Take down those crystals at the top,” Darryl instructed, pointing at the pillars with his crossbow. “The Dragon uses those to heal.”

“Got it,” George breathed, aiming his bow towards one that glowed far brighter than the rest.

It exploded in a shower of glass and smoke, and the Dragon hissed in agony. The Endermen scrambled about, and Clay distantly remembered the bit in his journal regarding the Dragon’s guardians. Were they distressed because it got hurt?

“Nick! Stop staring at the Endermen!” came Darryl’s panicked voice.

“I can’t help it! They’re in the way!” Nick shouted back. “It’s coming down! Clay, help me!”

“I’ve got you!” Clay answered, drawing his diamond sword as he rushed to the bedrock fountain in the middle of the endstone island. The Dragon tried to swerve around their blades to no avail, the sharp edges easily cutting through its scales. It flew away with a deafening roar, but not before spraying a dense cloud of poisonous gas over the area. Clay and Nick stood their ground, unaffected, for what are they inside but Dragon’s Breath as well?

 ** _“You fools!”_** cried a thundering, archaic voice inside their heads. **_“I give you eternal life, and this is how you repay me?”_**

“What’s going on?” George called out, noticing that the three had suddenly covered their ears. “Guys!”

 ** _“All I ask for is protection, and what do you give me but poison?”_** It circled the area, using the glowing End Crystals to heal its shallow wounds and broken scales.

“Don’t listen to it!” Nick yelled out over the noise. “We will never surrender to you!”

George continued taking down crystal after crystal, growing confused, for he couldn’t hear anything but the Dragon’s agonized roars. It suddenly rounded upon him, opening its mouth to let out a terrible ball of purple flame. 

“George!” Clay screamed, pushing George to the ground just in time to see the explosion hit just where he’d been, bits and pieces of endstone flying in the air, searing fire spreading on the ground. “Are you okay?!”

“I-I-I’m fine!” George sputtered out, cheeks red. “F-Focus! We need to focus!”

Clay could hear the Dragon’s taunting laugh in his head, mocking him.

 ** _“You’re pathetic, Dream. My Endermen did not fish your clumsy remains out of that ravine just so you can flirt with some puny mortal.”_**

His cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, but he didn’t let it deter him from his duty. _One, two, four crystals down, which means there’s six left, so—_

“Darryl!” he shouted. “The caged crystals! Go! Go! Go!”

“I’ve got them!” Darryl yelled back, getting to his feet and running towards the shortest spires, crossbow in hand.

 ** _“NO!”_**

A spiked tail flung Darryl into the air, ten, fifty, a hundred feet above the ground, screaming in terror, sending him crashing with a sickening _crunch._ His limp body skidded across the stony floor like a ragdoll, covered in abrasions. The three cried out for Darryl as he disappeared, sending him back to the stronghold.

“You’ve messed with the wrong group,” Nick growled, rage boiling inside him, axe raised high as he dashed towards the end fountain. “We’ll keep returning over and over again until you die, you hear me?!”

 ** _“Foolish child,”_** says the Dragon, aiming a fireball at him. Nick dashed out of the way, the searing purple flames barely grazing his skin. The Dragon smiled in self-satisfaction, circling the area again to heal before another explosion had it caught in the crossfire. Its glowing eyes narrowed at George, who was sporting a smug smirk, immediately going after the next crystal.

 ** _“This is the only one who can die,”_** it said, and Clay’s blood immediately ran cold in his veins.

“Not on my watch,” he growled. “I won’t let you take him from me.”

 ** _“As if you have a choice in the matter!”_** the Dragon laughed uproariously, swishing its tail threateningly atop its bedrock perch. Clay watched it carefully, determined to step out of its way, when the Dragon suddenly shot forward, preparing to attack.

George whirled around to see a ball of gray and purple hurtling towards him, hitting the ground and spewing a noxious gas that immediately left him lightheaded. A flash of green caught his eye and suddenly Dream was beside him, pearling them away to safety, clutching him close in his arms.

“George! George, are you okay?” Clay asked, immediately handing him a cut of steak. “Eat. You need to heal.”

George accepted the food wordlessly, his mind still reeling from the experience. He didn’t expect to see the Dragon coming out of nowhere, ramming its head into Dream’s side and hurling him off the ledge.

Clay gasped sharply, reflexes kicking in as he grabbed an Ender Pearl from his pack, the last one in his possession. He teleported safely back on the island, struggling to catch his breath. His ribs smarted from what happened, bruises blooming across his skin, until his lungs collapsed and he found himself back in the stronghold.

Meanwhile, Nick was desperately trying his best to fend himself against the Endermen, whose staticky screams were starting to hurt his ears. An arrow saved him from an annoying death, a pearl dropping at his feet, looking up to see George coming to his rescue.

“Where’s Clay?” Nick asked.

“He died, I think,” George shuddered. “I haven’t seen him die before.”

“Well with our luck, you won’t ever have to see him die anymore,” Nick replied with a grin. “Quick, gimme your bow! I bet I can get the caged ones from here.”

“Let’s trade,” George agreed, enjoying the familiar feeling of holding an axe again.

“Cover me! Cover me!” Nick aimed at one of the caged End Crystals. “Watch and learn, Georgie,” he said smugly as he confidently shot his mark, whooping as it exploded in a rain of glass and light.

George whacked away at their pursuers, picking up fallen pearls and storing them in his rucksack.

“George!” a breathless voice called after him, and he turned to see Dream running towards him, sword in hand. “Need some help?”

“I like to think that I’ve got it handled,” George said with a smirk, disposing of another Enderman.

Nick pointed at the Dragon, who was now perched on the end fountain, glowering at them. It turned to its loyal Endermen, beckoning them forward. **_“Now, are you my guardians, or mere spectators? Stop them!”_**

And so they cowered before it, and followed its command. As they’ve always done before.

Suddenly, it was much harder to protect oneself against a horde of teleporting monstrosities. Nick and George swapped back their weapons, the three of them fighting back-to-back against the aggressive mob, each one not daring to let the other two be singled out. 

“Where’s Darryl?” Nick asked out over the din of static. “He should’ve been back by now!”

“I didn’t see him on the way here,” Clay replied as he cut through the black mass. “I refuse to believe he would’ve abandoned us.”

The Dragon laughed at their plight, swooping in on them to separate them further.

Nick skidded back on his heels, the friction burning his soles. He ignored it, hacking away at the cacophonous mob, teeth gnashing, arms flailing. He glanced over at Clay and George, who weren’t faring much better than he was. _Well, at least they’ve got each other._

“Get away from me!” Nick screamed as their claws ripped through his armor, tearing away at him. Clay watched in horror, yelling for him as his cries faded away in the commotion, and so did his body.

“Dream!” George yelled out, narrowly avoiding the clamping jaws of one aggressive Enderman. “There’s too many of them!”

“Grab my hand!” Clay shouted, reaching out a hand towards him. George flung himself into his arms, clutching tightly to him. “Quick, give me one of your Ender Pearls.” George obliged, handing him the green orb. Clay carefully aimed it towards one of the pillars.

“Think you can get the crystals from here?” Clay whispered as he drenched themselves in water— _”water works,” Nick’s notes had declared cheerfully_ —carefully watching the Endermen scatter about, suddenly confused.

George nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He forced himself to keep a steady grip on the bow. “There should be five left, right? So, one, two—hey, why are there only two left?”

“One of them must’ve returned by now,” Clay’s eyes widened. “It must be—oh!”

Slinking away through the dark landscape, hiding in the shadows of the obsidian spires, was Darryl, his clothes helping him hide from the scrutinizing eye of the Dragon. He shot down one of the crystals just as George had taken down the other, leaving the Dragon vulnerable. 

_Perfect._

 ** _“Who?! Where?!”_** the Ender Dragon shouted in delirium, roaring and hissing fire, sending a fireball towards a cluster of Endermen. **_“Show yourselves, you pitiful cowards! The shadows cannot hide you for long!”_**

“I’m here!” came a heated cry. In bursts Nick from below the ground, armor and all, axe readily in his hand. He ran after the Dragon before it could flee from him, cutting off part of its tail, purple blood splattering all over his blade. It cried bloody murder, hissing and spitting at him.

“What has this dragon done for you?” he cried, addressing the angry Endermen. “It harms you to do its bidding, and traps you in this cold, empty dimension! What does it do for you in return?”

Their incensed cries grew confused, unsure of whom to direct their anger towards. Beady, glowing purple eyes locked upon the flying beast, who was desperately searching for a way to heal. Clay and George had already pearled to Nick’s side, as Darryl emerged from the shadows to rejoin his friends. Eventually, it seemed that the Endermen had already made up their minds, some even attempting to teleport to the pillars to reach the Dragon.

 ** _“I made you, and I can destroy you,”_** the Dragon growled at all of them.

“It is _you_ who will be destroyed,” Darryl hissed, firing an arrow directly at its neck, passing through its tough scales.

It tried to knock them backwards, but the Endermen got in its way. Darryl continued loading his crossbow, hitting his mark every time. George supported him with his bow, while Clay and Nick looked for an opportunity to strike it down with their gleaming blades.

The Ender Dragon finally settled down on its perch, huffing out a cloud of Dragon’s Breath around the base. **_“Stay back!”_** it warned, much more fearful than before. **_“We have reached an eternal stalemate. I’ll keep you trapped with me for eternity if I have to!”_**

“What stalemate?” Nick chuckled, rushing through the Breath, axe splitting the side of its wings, rendering it unable to fly properly. “It’s four versus one; three of whom are immune to your tricks.”

“We will not cower before you anymore,” Clay added, thrusting his sword towards its belly and ripping through it backwards, sending a rain of purple onto his cloak. “We will turn you into nothing, and your reign of terror will be over.”

“We will free the End,” George finished, shooting it between the eyes, sending it screaming, thrashing about onto the floor with a cry of despair.

Time suddenly crawled to a slow pace as Clay noted, with quickly growing horror, that the Dragon was barreling towards him. It knocked him backwards in the air as it tried to float miserably, disintegrating one scale at a time, a brilliant light flashing from its innards.

His hand moved to his cloak for a Pearl before realizing he’d just used his last one.

He distantly heard George screaming his name.

The Ender Dragon is dead.

And so will he be, as he notices himself missing the edge of the endstone island.

George’s horrified face peered above the edge, a green object in his hands.

An Ender Pearl.

 _If he misses his shot, he will end up blaming himself for Clay’s death. The probability of him succeeding will only get smaller as time goes on._

 **> Don't risk it.**  
**> Risk it.**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

Clay desperately reached an arm out towards George. He _couldn’t_ die again, damn it—despite the small odds he had of living.

He wanted to catch up with Nick and Darryl again, while they weren’t running for their lives.

He wanted to wake up next to George every morning, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He wanted to _live._

A flash of green caught his eye, standing out starkly against the pale yellow endstone. He reached up towards it, grasping it in his hand before it could fall past him, and immediately threw it up the nearest ledge.

Purple light encompasses his body, and he takes a deep, heaving breath as his knees scrape against the rocky floor, a terrified, relieved giggle bubbling up his throat. Clay crawls far away from the edge, and he finally collapses, weary and euphoric all at once.

“C-Clay!” Darryl cried, pointing at him as he, too, dropped to the ground, exhausted.

Nick and George immediately turned their heads, the former slumping down as well, and the latter immediately running towards him. 

“Dream!” George yelled, nearly stumbling to his knees over the rocky endstone as he practically flew towards him. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Clay laughed, wrapping George in a big, tight hug. “Just tired. You did it, George! You killed the Dragon!” George’s arms circled around his neck, pulling him even closer to him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you”—George suddenly turned red as he hid his face into Clay’s chest, hearing Darryl and Nick’s weary chuckles behind him. “Without _all_ of you,” he says, a little more loudly.

“Yeah, we’re fine too!” Nick called out teasingly, prompting another round of snickering from Darryl.

“Let’s get to the portal,” Clay whispered softly, stroking his back. “This nightmare is finally over.”

George reluctantly pulled himself away from Clay’s embrace as the four of them headed back to the end fountain, where an inky swirl of stars and blackness awaited them. Clay clasped his hand warmly before they jumped in. 

Their hands remained interlocked when they’d reappeared back in the stronghold, back in the little nook above the library, in the dusty bed where he and George had spent the previous night. 

Clay almost jumped when George immediately clung onto him, burying his face into his shirt. Clay tentatively wrapped his arms around his back.

“I thought I’d lost you,” George mumbled, trembling in his embrace, “when the Dragon hit you”—he hiccupped, clutching onto the fabric of Clay’s cloak—“I-I didn’t think I’d—”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, George.” Clay rested his masked face on top of George’s head. “I’m safe. You saved me. We did it. _You_ did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Clay—I mean, _Dream,_ I—”

Clay’s heart stopped for a second, a goofy, flustered grin spreading across his lips. “Call me Clay,” he interrupted George, rubbing circles onto his back with his thumb.

“Clay, then,” George murmured. “I’m so glad you survived. I-I don’t know what I’d have done if you didn’t.”

“I’m here, George. I’ve got you.”

He held George protectively for a few more moments, listening to his shuddering, breathless giggles as he continued to whisper sincere compliments in his ear. Clay heard the slight creaking of the ladder on the other side of the room, unsurprised to see Nick and Darryl peeking up at them.

“C’mere you two,” Clay said, holding out an arm towards them.

George made an embarrassed squeak as he was suddenly squished in between three people. “Let me out,” he whined.

“Nope, no good,” Nick declared. “You’re going to be stuck here forever.”

“Okay, okay,” Clay chuckled, “Let him go.”

“Aww,” Darryl pouted as they all pulled apart from each other, “the group hug didn’t last very long now, did it?”

"We'll all get more hugs in the future, won't we?" Nick laughed nervously. "We _are_ sticking together, right?"

"I mean… there is nothing left for us to do," Clay's voice trailed off.

"I could… I could return to my village." George said quietly, but even Clay could tell that he didn't really want to.

"I wouldn't say there's _nothing_ left to do," Darryl piped up. "There's so much left of the Overworld to explore."

"We could also… go home." Nick swallowed thickly. "See what we've left behind."

"Is there anything worth returning to?" Clay thought aloud, his mind churning. They could've been gone for _decades,_ and they would've been none the wiser.

Darryl placed a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to worry about that now, Clay," he said soothingly, "we should focus on getting out of this stronghold first."

"You’re right," he replied.

They made their way through the stony corridors, tired but also thrilled to have a new chance at life. They climbed the rotting rungs up the tunnel for what could possibly be the last time, shielding their eyes from the harsh sunlight beating down on their faces.

“We’re free,” George breathed, “it’s finally over.”

“It’s over,” Clay echoed, smiling as he clasped George’s hand with his own. “There’s nothing else for us to worry about.”

“Only what we could do next,” Nick pointed out.

“We’d be fine with whatever you decide, Clay,” Darryl said. “As long as we stick together, okay?”

George turned to Clay. "I'll stay with you as long as you want me to."

Clay smiled and squeezed his hand. "There's no universe in which I would've wanted you to leave," he whispered sincerely. He turned to the rest of his friends, his mind already made up.

"I want to…"

 **> "…go home."**  
**> "…explore the Overworld."**  
**> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“I want to go home,” Clay said softly. “It might’ve changed a lot since we’ve last seen it, but it’s still home. And I’m _exhausted._ ”

“Okay.” Nick grinned. “Let’s go home.”

The way back proved to be a little more stressful, as the little rickety boat could only fit two people inside. Nick offered to swim through the ocean waters himself before being reminded that _“you could die for real now, Nick, what if a Drowned gets you again like last time?”_.

“Moral of the story, make a million boats,” Darryl had sighed. “Good thing we’re in a birch forest then, huh?”

They'd crossed the ocean with little to no further incident (other than that one gurgler— _Drowned, Nick, honestly_ —with the trident) and were able to safely set foot on the shore by mid-afternoon. The sight was different—it wasn’t the coastal village where Reverend Aster lived but another one, the very one where Clay felt a sense of unease in.

“It feels like we’ve stepped back in time,” Nick murmured, staring out over the sea of houses. “Or stepped out of it, and everyone’s moved on.”

“Not everyone,” Clay sighed, thinking of the baker in the neighboring village.

Darryl approached a path leading to the forest bordering the village, surprised to see it less worn than he remembered. “This feels familiar,” he spoke.

“It’s home,” Nick replied.

“You should probably lay low,” George said quietly. “After all, it doesn’t look like you’ve aged a day.”

“You’re right,” Clay breathed. “We should stick to the trees just in case we bump into someone.”

The dirt path led towards a decently-sized stone house, vines and moss dancing in its crevices, its wooden roof looking as though it wanted to collapse onto itself. A small garden nearby—overgrown, wilting; Darryl frowned at the sight.

“My garden,” he whispered, seeing the fenced-off patch of greens—or browns, by the look of them—and hurrying over to it. “I’ve forgotten about this.”

“My pets,” Nick lamented. “I wish I could’ve said goodbye.”

“Think it’s abandoned?” George asked.

Clay shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Then he pushed the door open.

It was a little less deserted than they’d expected, but it didn’t seem like someone was using it much. The furnace looked like it hadn’t been lit in ages. The chests stacked on the shelves nearby were collecting dust. A quick peek into the bedrooms—five beds, some of them converted into bunk beds—revealed that only one person had been living there, at least, judging by the wrinkled sheets compared to the other ones that had been neatly tucked in place.

“There’s someone else here,” Nick said, confused. “But only the three of us were in the picture, right?”

“No, no, there’s someone we’re forgetting.” Darryl’s brows furrowed in frustration.

Clay tried to dig within the recesses of his memories. “Who—”

“What are you doing in my house?!” A heavily accented voice suddenly startled them out of their wits. “Get out, thieves! Out! Out!”

Clay turned around to face the newcomer and almost choked on his own spit. _He_ looked older, his hair streaked with silver, his beard even bushier than what he remembered. His voice had grown more gruff, more angry… and yet, he seemed more frail. More vulnerable. An intimidating aura lent itself around the man, but Clay couldn’t find it in himself to be scared.

“Vincent?” falls out of Darryl’s lips in an awed voice.

Suddenly, the old man’s demeanor changes, and he quickly turns pale, dropping the sack he carried in one hand. “No…” he mumbles, more to himself than towards them. “They’ve been dead for several years, Xem. They’re gone. _They’re gone._ ” Vincent leaned into the doorframe to steady himself. Darryl immediately rushed to support him.

“I’ve got you, Vincent,” Darryl said soothingly, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. “I’ve got you. Are you alright?”

“Put me down,” Vincent cried, his accent getting thicker with each word, “I’ve finally lost my mind.” Darryl carefully set him on the ground.

“You look so _old,_ ” Nick blurted out, mouth agape. Vincent flinched.

“We’ve left you behind in every aspect imaginable,” Darryl murmured, looking worse than before. “We’re so sorry.”

“I’m sorry you had to meet us again this way,” Clay said shakily, removing his mask and tucking it into his cloak. “I-We didn’t know you’d still be here.”

“You—” Vincent began, glaring at Clay, before his eyes roved over to Nick, and back to Darryl. “Fuck, I’m seeing ghosts, aren’t I? You’ve all died and you’ve come to get me too, haven’t you?”

“Language,” Darryl said half-heartedly.

“You’re… You’re not seeing ghosts,” Nick said softly, kneeling down next to him. “We’re real, see?” He held out a hand, and Vincent hesitantly pressed his fingers against his palm. There was warmth where he expected coldness, and his shaky facade crumbled down, exposing the most fragile parts of himself.

“Oh Vincent, please don’t cry,” Darryl croaked, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I-We’ve missed you terribly too.” He wrapped his arms around Vincent again, burying his face in his shoulder.

“My God,” he says, inhaling shakily. “It _is_ you, _putain de merde_ —how?! How did you live?!” Vincent pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Clay. “Do you know—do you know just how much I’ve _suffered,_ how long I—”

He broke down into sobs, the rage dissipating from him, leaving only the cold, cruel loneliness he’d been forced to bear. Clay wrapped him into a comforting hug, one that Vincent was grateful for.

“It was the Dragon,” he answered. “It used its Hunters to strike us down and bring us to its side. We… It left us immortal, in a way.”

“All of you?” Vincent took deep breaths and pulled away from the embrace. “Even Zak?”

The three exchanged a look. “We… We haven’t encountered him at all,” Nick said. Darryl looked like he was about to break down, his eyes dawning in realization.

“That’s…” Vincent let out a heavy sigh. “Having the three of you back is a miracle in itself.” He led them over to the dining table, or at least, what remained of it. Clay relished in the familiarity of his favorite chair, one of the three without the wobbly legs. George sat beside him, clasping his hand comfortingly and rubbing circles with his thumb.

“Do you…” Nick trailed off, sitting on the empty space next to Clay.

“We don’t have to…” Darryl continued, taking a seat beside Vincent.

“But we _should_ talk about it,” Clay insisted.

“So,” Vincent began, staring at them, “what do you want to say?”

“What happened to us?” Clay frowned. “I remember leaving the house with Nick. But what about… Darryl? And Zak?”

“I left because I was worried about you two,” Darryl replied quietly.

“When you never came back,” Vincent cleared his throat, “Zak didn’t take it too well.” His voice became thick with emotion. “It took about a year before he snapped. He couldn’t take the grief of losing all three of you, especially when the _rumors_ happened. So he just… left.”

“Rumors?” George asked.

“The ones about, ah, the _Hunters._ ” Vincent laughed ruefully. “It’s why I kept putting off my own mission.” He gestured lamely at the shelf of chests. “I’ve tried to warn everyone about it but…” He winced at a memory. “Let’s say they didn’t take it too well.”

“Did they hurt you?” Darryl asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, no,” Vincent held up his hands. “It doesn’t matter now that you’re here.”

“I may not have known you for as long as they have, Vincent,” George said softly, “but I… I know you _didn’t_ deserve that. Nobody does.” He bit his lip, feeling a little silly about his interruption.

“Thank you,” Vincent replied faintly.

“I thought of something that might help,” Darryl said, wiping the tears from his eyes and clearing his throat. “I could bake something, like the good old days. What do you say?”

“I’ve nothing left in the house.” Vincent gestured over to the fallen sack by the door. “I only have potatoes.”

“Baked potatoes it is.” Darryl forced a bright smile on his face. “We won’t need much for the five of us.”

They did as they were told, following Darryl’s instructions as they prepared the potatoes, stabbing each one and coating them in salt and oil. It was rhythmic, repetitive, relaxing, in a way. Clay found his mind wandering as he worked; maybe this was why Darryl liked to cook sometimes, sorting out his thoughts and his emotions. His eyes darted over to George, watching his deft fingers as he turned over the potatoes in his hands, placing them neatly onto a tray.

His mind drifted back to the morning in the stronghold, when George had confronted him about unmasking himself. He suddenly wondered how it would feel to have those hands caressing his bare jaw, his breath warm against his lips, until finally, _finally,_ they—

“You’re blushing,” Nick said with a teasing smirk, quietly enough so that only Clay could hear.

“Shut up,” he hissed in reply, jabbing him in the side.

“Ow!” Nick scowled. “What was that for?”

“You’re so slow,” Clay scoffed, ignoring Vincent and Darryl’s pointed stares. “I’ve already gotten through four potatoes, and you’re still working on _one._ ”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” Nick huffed, a hint of a smile still curving his lips.

George giggled quietly at the scene, causing Clay’s heart to flutter in his chest.

“I think that’s enough,” Darryl said, looking over their work approvingly. “I’ve set up the furnace, so I’ll just call you guys when it’s ready.”

“I’ll just be looking around,” George said, standing up from his seat. “I won’t be gone for long.”

“You alright?” Clay asked.

George gave him a soft smile. “Yeah. Just need to clear my head for a bit.” He washed his hands by the sink and left through the door.

“I hope he’s okay,” Darryl said.

“A lot has happened lately,” Clay murmured. “Maybe he just needs some time alone.”

“Tell us more about your friend,” Vincent said curiously. “George, am I correct?”

“Yeah.” Clay casted his gaze downwards. “He was my target. I… I was supposed to kill him, but”—a wry smile curved his lips—“I’m glad we became friends instead.”

“ _Just_ friends?” Nick prodded.

Clay rolled his eyes. “Just because I care about him, it doesn’t mean I—well…”

“You should tell him,” Darryl encouraged him.

“What if he doesn’t—?”

“Clay.” Vincent stared intently into his eyes. “I’ve only met him today, and even I could tell he cares a great deal about you. You _should_ tell him.”

“The worst he could do is to cut you off completely,” Nick said, and the mere thought of it _terrified_ him. “But I don’t think George is that kind of person. You’ve been together for such a long time now. He won’t let go of you that easily.”

“I…I’ll try,” Clay whispered faintly.

Darryl grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go get him, Clay.”

Clay smiled weakly, washing his hands off in the sink before heading outside to find George. He found him kneeling beneath a tall, dark oak tree, closely inspecting a ring of large, flat stones nestled near the roots.

“Something on your mind?” he spoke.

George jerked his head up to face him, mouth opening in surprise before he closed it. “You scared me.” He shook his head. “Just thinking about what happened today. With the Ender Dragon and all.”

Clay knelt down beside him. The stones George had been looking at were… _memorials,_ it seemed.

 _“To Zak; we will miss you, always.”_

 _“In loving memory of Darryl; lost, but never forgotten.”_

 _“For Nick; until we meet again.”_

He thumbed over the last inscription, a heavy feeling settling in his chest.

 _“In cherished memory of Clay; you will live on in our dreams.”_

“To think,” George began quietly, “if it weren’t for that last Ender Pearl… If I’d been a little too late… This… This would’ve been reality.” He choked back a sob. “You would’ve been _dead,_ Clay, and it would’ve been my fault.”

Clay draped an arm around George’s shoulders, stroking him comfortingly. “But I’m here. I’m alive.” He cupped George’s cheek with his other hand, gently turning his head to face him. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

George placed a hand over Clay’s and leaned into his touch, closing his eyes as he heaved a trembling sigh. 

And then Clay heard it.

“I love you.”

Clay’s eyes widened as his heart began racing rapidly in his chest. “W-Wha—?”

George opened his eyes. “I love you Clay,” he repeated, pink dusting his cheeks.

Clay let out a giddy, breathless giggle as he enveloped George in a warm, tight hug, one much like the previous ones, yet it felt so much more than that. He felt George’s arms snaking up his back, his breath shaky against Clay’s shoulder.

“I love you too, George,” Clay confessed, his voice wavering. “If I… If I never got to see you again—”

“Clay…”

“—If I never got to hold you again—”

“ _Clay._ ”

“—If I never got to kiss you—”

“Then _kiss me._ ” George pulled back only to crash his lips onto Clay’s, colliding sloppily before they pulled apart for a quick second, giggling to themselves.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” Clay said tenderly before pulling George back into a proper kiss, cupping his jaw and tilting his head as their mouths melded together, trying to convey the depths of their affection for each other. George sighed into the kiss, one hand running up to tug gently on Clay’s hair. They broke apart with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, a dopey smile on Clay’s lips, and a shy grin on George’s.

“I thought I was being too obvious,” George confessed. “I’ve loved you for such a long time now.”

“As did I,” Clay admitted. “I knew it from the moment I gave you my compass. I’d trust you with my life.” He rested his forehead against George’s, closing his eyes. “And now I’m trusting you with my heart.”

“I’ll take care of it if you’d do the same for me, too,” George whispered. “I’ve never loved anyone as fiercely as I do you, Clay.”

“I’ll love you from the Nether to the End,” Clay murmured sincerely. “For as long as the sun continues to rise, until the last day it sets, I promise to love you as you are. I love you, George.”

“I…” George’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of red. “I love you too, Clay. So much so that I can’t even put it into words.”

“Then show me instead,” Clay breathed against his lips.

George moved in to kiss him when he suddenly jerked back with an embarrassed squeak. Clay turned his head around to see Darryl standing bashfully nearby.

“The potatoes are ready,” he said, flushing pink.

Clay sighed, trying to hide his disappointment. “We’ll be there soon.” Darryl nodded wordlessly before heading back inside.

George chuckled lightly before planting a chaste kiss onto Clay’s cheek. “We have the rest of our lives to spend together,” he said softly. “I have plenty of time to show you how much I love you.”

“The rest of our lives,” Clay repeated, a little awestruck. “Yes… Yeah, I’d love that.” He brought up George’s hand to give it a fond kiss. “I’d love that very much.”

“We have baked potatoes waiting for us,” George laughed. “I’m not going anywhere, Clay.”

“Then let’s go,” Clay replied, squeezing his hand as they made their way back to the house, matching grins on their faces.

* * *

**ENDING: BAKED POTATOES**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

“I want to explore the Overworld,” Clay replied. “Finding out more about our past won’t change who we are. All that matters is what we’ll do in the future.” He turned to George, squeezing his hand.

“Which direction do you think we should head to first?” George asked.

“We head South,” Darryl replied. “Up North is where the ocean is, and I’m not sure we can make it to shore by sundown.”

“Then South it is,” Nick replied. “Let’s go!”

Past the birch forest was a wide stretch of desert, almost completely barren save for the occasional cactus and the thorny, tangled shrubs of dead bushes. They struggled to climb over a particularly large sand dune, keeping their eyes peeled out for another village or an oasis, at least. 

"We're muffined if we don't find a village soon," Darryl remarked, looking around warily. "There won't be any place for us to hide in."

"It's fine," Clay replied, squinting in the distance. "It's barely even twilight yet. We’ll probably come across a cave or something soon."

"A savanna!" Nick gasped, pointing at something in the distance—a lone acacia tree, surrounded by tall, green grass.

“There could be a village nearby!” Darryl exclaimed, running downhill and kicking up sand in the air.

“Wait up!” Nick shouted after him.

“Oh, good,” George heaved. “Some food, finally.”

“Were you hungry?” Clay stopped and turned to him, brows creased in worry. “I still have some food left in my pack, you know.”

“No, no, just a little drained.” George said, giving him a faint smile. “We were… We were fighting for such a long time after all.” He yelped when Clay suddenly hoisted him onto his back, hooking his arms securely beneath George’s knees.

“Clay!” George cried in alarm, wrapping his arms around Clay’s neck. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” the other replied, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “I’m sure Nick and Darryl don’t have all day to wait for us.”

George said nothing more, and Clay only grinned as he tried to catch up to the other two. He struggled to keep his heart calm as George held him closer, his warm cheek leaning against his back. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure his face was a blazing, rosy red.

“Hurry up, you slowpokes,” Nick said with a cheeky grin. Clay rolled his eyes.

Darryl chuckled. “Come on, you muffinheads.”

He’d been right about the village after all, as they quickly spotted the warm-toned roofs and the dull, yellow terracotta walls among the dried grass. George attempted to rest his chin onto Dream’s shoulder.

“Do we look for an inn?” he asked.

“I don’t have many emeralds left,” Clay sighed. “I doubt this would be enough for one night.”

“We could try over there.” Nick jerked his head towards a large building at the back.

“A barn?” George squinted his eyes.

“Yeah!” Nick replied. “Lots of warm hay, it’s big, it’s dark, plus who would snitch on us? The cows?”

“Oh my goodness,” Darryl groaned, massaging his temples with his fingers. “I can’t believe we’re actually sleeping in a barn.”

“Don’t knock it off until you try it,” Clay laughed.

“It could be worse,” George offered.

“It could be comfortable,” Nick countered. “Besides, do we have any other options?”

Darryl turned his head towards the sun steadily setting over the horizon. “No,” he sighed. “We don’t. Let’s just go there, then.”

As they expected, there were only a few stragglers left outside, as many had already retreated back into the safety of their homes for the night. Nobody took notice of four bloodied strangers sneaking into the barn at the edge of the fields.

“You can let go of me now,” George said, reluctantly loosening his hold around Clay.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Guys!” Darryl held a finger up to his lips, hissing through his teeth. “Shh! We have to be quiet!”

Nick struggled to contain his laughter as George turned beet-red.

“You were right,” Clay cleared his throat as he gently set George down on the ground. “There’s plenty of hay here. Should be comfortable enough to sleep in.”

“Shall we find our own corners?” Nick said.

“I’m going to see if this barn has a loft,” Darryl replied.

“I’ll come with you!” Nick offered, not even daring to wait for an answer. That left Clay and George alone by the cow enclosures, with George shuffling from one foot to another.

“Still hungry?” Clay asked.

“Hmm?” George stopped, turning to face him. “No—I mean, maybe. A little bit, yeah.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Clay chuckled with faux exasperation, sitting down and retrieving a roll from his rucksack, passing it over to George.

George sat down next to him as he ate, his eyes clouding over as he let his mind wander. Clay let him be for a moment as he waited for Nick and Darryl to return. _If they ever intended on returning for them, that is._

“Hey, Clay,” George spoke up softly.

“Yeah?”

“I know I’ve already said this, but I’m really, _really_ happy that you survived.” His fingers twitched against the bread. “To think that if it weren’t for that single Ender Pearl, you would’ve…” His grip on the roll tightened. “You would’ve…”

“George,” Clay said softly, removing his mask and tucking it in his cloak. He placed a hand on George’s back, stroking it consolingly. “Breathe.” He wrapped his arms around George’s waist, resting his head onto his shoulder. “I’m here, okay? I’m safe, thanks to you. I’ve got you, George. I’ve got you.”

George shoved the rest of the bread in his mouth as he tried to blink away the tears, his shoulders heaving with dry, quiet sobs. Clay held him tighter.

“Clay, I—”

“George, I—”

They stopped, blinking slowly, a weak chuckle spilling from George’s lips. “I’m such a mess,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes. “We’re supposed to be quiet and I—” Another chuckle. “I’m crying over something that never even happened.”

“It’s understandable,” Clay replied softly, pulling away and resting his hands on George’s shoulders. “It was… stressful, to say the least. If our positions were switched I…” A dark, pained look flickered across his features. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you… if you _died._ ”

“You worry too much about me,” George murmured. 

“How can I not?” Clay replied, cupping George’s cheek with one hand. He gazed at his face, illuminated by the glow of the lanterns, as well as the soft rays of the moonlight. “George, I lo—”

The cow in the enclosure next to them suddenly let out a loud moo. George turned towards it, startled, but Clay held his head in place, using both hands to make him face him again.

“George,” he tried again, “I love you.”

George gaped at him, opening and closing his mouth in shock like a fish. Clay chuckled faintly just as he heard Darryl and Nick going up to them in a tizzy.

“Did you wake up the cows?” Darryl sighed wearily. “I thought we’d said _quiet!_ ”

“We _were,_ ” Clay huffed, bringing his hands back onto his lap. “They just mooed out of nowhere!”

“Then what were you doing?” Nick asked. George blushed.

“We were just eating,” Clay replied, retrieving another roll from his pack. “Bread?”

Nick took it from his hands, shooting him a sly grin. “We found a ladder leading to the loft right there.” He pointed over to a shadowed area in the back. “Plenty of space for us to sleep comfortably.”

“I’m going up,” Darryl said, heading towards the ladder. “I’m all tuckered out.”

“So am I,” George said, clearing his throat as he went after Darryl.

Nick glanced over at Clay, who was watching George with a sad, fond smile. “So uh,” he began, “how did it go?”

“What?” Clay snorted. “The bread’s a little stale, but we’ll take what we can get, y’know?”

“Idiot,” Nick huffed, jabbing him in the side. “I’m talking about your confession.”

“Ah…” Clay scratched the back of his head. “That obvious, huh?”

“I have _eyes,_ ” Nick scoffed. “I’ve only known George for a day, and I can already tell you care for each other a great deal.”

“You know me so well,” Clay said with a wry smile.

“I swear, if the two of you still don’t have things figured out by tomorrow, I’m bonking your heads together until you get a clue.” Nick whirled around. “It’s only been a day and I can _tell_ this would go on for months if I don’t intervene.”

Clay rolled his eyes, waiting until Nick already made his way upstairs before following suit. In the dim moonlight, he could make out Darryl’s sleeping figure, his cloak laid out on a mound of hay like a sheet. Nick just splayed himself out on one pile, so Clay moved over to George, who was lucky enough to score a couple of hay bales to sleep on.

“Spare room?” he asked, setting his things down onto the floor.

“For you, of course,” George replied, scooting over to make room. “I’m sorry I don’t have a sheet, like Darryl does.”

“I have mine,” Clay replied, unclasping it.

“I want to use it as a blanket instead.”

“Better?” Clay draped the cloak over themselves.

George scrunched his nose. “You really should wash it,” he huffed, before his lips curved into a fond smile. “But I like that it smells like you.”

Clay knew that George probably couldn’t tell, but his face immediately blazed red. “ _I_ smell like me,” he mumbled.

George cupped his jaw tenderly. “Well, I like you too,” he whispered.

Clay’s eyes widened. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” George ran a thumb across his cheek, brushing over the faint freckles present there. “I really, _really_ love you, Clay.”

Clay couldn’t hold back an elated grin. “I really want to kiss you.”

“So do I…”

And that was all it took before their lips met, hesitant at first before growing bolder, a fire lighting up in their chests as they pressed even closer to each other, kissing each other as though they were trying to imprint the whole sensation of it into their minds. They broke apart in giddy breathlessness, eyes shining, cheeks burning.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” Clay rasped.

“And you could,” George replied softly. “We have the rest of our lives to explore the world, don’t we?”

“And I will,” Clay whispered, pressing another chaste kiss onto his lips. “I’ll kiss you every single day if I have to.”

George let out a flustered giggle. “I’ll love you for as long as you’ll have me,” he murmured.

“I’ll never tire of loving you, George.” Another kiss. “I guess you’re stuck with me ‘til the end of time.” He wrapped his arms around George, holding him close.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” George replied, nuzzling further into his chest. “Love you, Clay.”

“Love you too, George.”

Needless to say, nobody got bonked in the head the next morning.

* * *

The final scream echoed throughout the night, and the pillager captain fell dead on the grass at last. Clay wiped the blood from his sword and picked up the banner hanging from the captain’s back and victoriously held it up high.

“Thank you,” cried the village leader, a cartographer, by the looks of him. “We never think we’d last long enough to see the next day!”

“It was no trouble for us,” Nick replied with a grin. “We were only passing by, and we wanted to help!”

“To whom do we owe our thanks?” the cartographer asked. “It’s only fitting that we give you a reward.”

“Dream.”

“GeorgeNotFound.”

“Sapnap.”

“And BadBoyHalo,” Darryl finished. “The Muffinteers, if you please.”

“Of course, of course! Mr. Reid, at your service.” He takes an exaggerated bow, taking a roll of parchment from his bag. “A reward, for you,” he says, handing it over to Darryl. “They say it leads to a pyramid below the ocean floors, harboring a treasure trove of gold.”

“Interesting,” George murmured.

“I apologize that I’ve nothing more to offer,” Mr. Reid said.

“No need,” Clay replied. “We don’t need payment.”

With a quick salute, the four were off into the night, carrying nothing new in their packs save for the pillagers’ banner, as well as Mr. Reid’s map.

It had been a couple of months since they’d started their adventure, hopping from village to village in search of something new—who they used to be didn’t matter to them anymore. It didn’t take long before they got bored of the monotony, and adopted back the names they received as Hunters. Clay had helpfully supplied George with his, thanks to an incident wherein he nearly got lost in the gravel mountains. It was their penance, Clay supposed, for shedding so much unnecessary blood. They’d dedicated their lives to helping out whoever they met, masked vigilantes cloaked in the warm embrace of the moonlight.

Of course, it didn’t mean that they neglected to indulge themselves every once in a while.

“He said _treasure,_ ” Nick repeated, pointing at the map.

They’d stayed in a cave for the night, away from the deadly mobs and away from the prying eyes of other people.

“What would we do with all that gold, though?” Darryl sighed. “Besides, there’s the ocean Guardians to worry about, too.”

While they bickered among themselves, Clay and George warmed themselves by the campfire, with George resting his head onto Clay’s lap.

“You know that this means we won’t be settling down for a while, do you?” Clay said, stroking his hair with one hand.

“I know,” George replied. “I don’t mind as long as we’re together.” He brought down Clay’s hand to brush a kiss against his knuckles.

Clay hummed in agreement, planting a kiss onto George’s forehead. “I love you.”

George giggled. “You’re such a sap, Clay.”

“You’re even worse than me!”

“Fine.” George rolled his eyes in faux exasperation, squeezing Clay’s hand tightly. “I love you too.”

And there wasn’t a moment since where he doubted it.

* * *

**ENDING: THE MUFFINTEERS**

 **> Restart from previous choice.**  
**> Quit and start over.**

**THE SPAWNER**  
**CUTTHROAT**  
**MELTDOWN**  
**DOMESTICITY**  
**WITHERED ROSE**  
**ASH AND DUST**  
**COLD SHOULDER**  
**THE HORDE**  
**BITTERSWEET**  
**CANDIED TULIPS**  
**COLORED LIGHTS**  
**BAKED POTATOES**  
**THE MUFFINTEERS**

 **> Start from the beginning.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment down which ending you got first as well as your favorite one! :D This is my baby though so please don't judge me too harshly!! Constructive criticism is ok though :DD
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Here's a list of all the endings, in case you can't find them all!**


	2. Detailed Walkthrough + Other notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been at least 24 hours so here's a more detailed guide/walkthrough + other things I wanna address!
> 
> I'm not sure if anyone needs it though seeing as most people managed to find all the endings themselves! But here's one for those looking for a particular storyline anyway :>

**WALKTHROUGH**

**THE SPAWNER**

> Beginning > Swing

**CUTTHROAT**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Kill him

**MELTDOWN**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “No, I’m not”

**DOMESTICITY**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > …kiss him

**WITHERED ROSE**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Deflect the question > Attack > …screamed

**ASH AND DUST**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Deflect the question > Attack > …moved

**COLD SHOULDER**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Deflect the question > Freeze

**THE HORDE**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Attack

**BITTERSWEET**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Ask George > Any > Any > It’s a lost cause

**CANDIED TULIPS**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Ask George > Any > Any > Try to convince them > Don’t risk it

**COLORED LIGHTS**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Ask George > Check out the village > Any > Try to convince them > Risk it

**BAKED POTATOES**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Ask George > Continue to the stronghold > Any > Try to convince them > Risk it > …go home

**THE MUFFINTEERS**

> Beginning > Hesitate > Go to sleep > Any > “Yes, I am” > Tell him the truth > Ask George > Continue to the stronghold > Any > Try to convince them > Risk it > …explore the Overworld

* * *

**Other stuff I wanna talk about:**  
Nobody's brought this up yet but I wanna talk about it though; if anyone noticed the fluctuating publishing dates (July 10/11), it's because I started the draft at July 10, but I posted the final thing at July 11 around 1 AM. I know you can change publishing dates but for some reason I couldn't select July 11 until around 7 AM? So I did, but then later I saw some newer works under the tag that were posted _below_ this one, so I got worried that I'd be accused of bumping mine up for more hits jfgkdfhkg so I just reverted it back to the original publishing date (July 10). Hopefully posting this would clear things up!

BTW if anyone wants to make something based off of this please hit me up I'd love to see it!! Seeing everyone's reactions and comments made my whole day, love you guys and see you in the next work! 💕💕


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